


Merlin's Moving Castle

by KrisEleven



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisEleven/pseuds/KrisEleven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a result of some very unfortunate decisions, Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot, is cursed by Morgana (also known as the Witch of the Wastes) and becomes fully invisible to anyone who doesn’t possess magic. Forced to abandon his kingdom, he begins his quest for a remedy to his unfortunate condition and comes across the quite charming - and even more annoying - Merlin who may be the only one able to save Albion, if only Arthur can convince him to try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in which Arthur makes a series of unfortunate decisions

**Author's Note:**

> Originally from [ this prompt ](http://ohmystarsy.tumblr.com/tagged/k%27s%3Amerlin%27s-moving-castle) from the glorious [ ohmystarsy](http://ohmystarsy.tumblr.com/), who is responsible for the idea, the wonderful artwork, the actual completion of this story and my sanity (basically). And the editing! And the handholding! Also the summary! This would not exist without you, I'm pretty sure you're the more important fic-parent. You are the light of my life, Kasia, is what I'm saying. <3
> 
> This is a fusion with Howl's Moving Castle, which means it borrows the setting and some themes from that world, but doesn't include any Howl's Moving Castle characters. Basically, its a sort-of-steampunk Merlin AU. Magic!Steampunk!AU? You don't need to know that world to read this. 
> 
> ~~It took way too long to write this, but it is all complete. I will be posting a couple times a week to give myself some time to do editing and some rewriting as we go, but it will not be put on hiatus or abandoned.~~ All done! To those of you waiting for it to be completed, welcome! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> There is a [ playlist](http://8tracks.com/kriseleven/merlin-s-moving-castle) too.

In the land of Camelot, a land of myth in a time of magic, on a day atypical to most others in the castle, King Arthur made three unfortunate decisions. 

The first was that he wore a truly stifling jacket for a long day of formal meetings. Camelot never truly got cold, even in the deepest of the winter months, but this summer had been one of the worst in memory. The entire countryside was dried brown and gold, and even the deep water stores of the castle were depleted to worrying levels. Arthur had known it to be a mistake the minute he’d seen the jacket laid out for him that morning, of course, but there was little else that would send George into an outright panic more quickly and thoroughly than a last minute change in the wardrobe Arthur’s manservant had already prepared. 

With the entirety of George’s mental well-being in his hands, he had donned the jacket and sat through hours of discussion on the latest issues with half a mind wondering if his ministers would truly object to moving the entire proceedings to the dungeons, which would at least provide some break in the late summer heat. 

His second mistake was agreeing with Agravaine’s suggestion that his knights not be allowed to attend his other meeting as his guard. They argued, of course – indeed, with more insistence than his ministers had thought proper – but his knights had always cared more about his life than propriety. 

However, Agravaine pointed out that the vital meeting would never take place if there was even a chance it could be viewed as a trap. He turned his back to Arthur’s knights to face Arthur alone as he spoke. “You know how much of Camelot’s security rests upon your shoulders and this meeting,” he reminded his nephew. “Can you really place their paranoid worrying over the safety of your kingdom?”

“Our worries are for the safety of our king,” Leon argued, his tone even with court training. 

“As are mine,” Agravaine allowed, smiling slightly. “And though magic is an insidious enemy, sometimes wise men must put aside our fears and distaste in order to rule. It is not something a soldier must often deal with.”

Leon opened his mouth, but Arthur held up a hand to halt the discussions. He was distracted and uncomfortable, and though he knew his knights’ concerns were valid, he could not turn away from the logic of Agravaine’s suggestions. No matter how he distrusted his guest and the magic she wielded, he could not allow his people to suffer for concerns of his own safety. Besides, Arthur understood his guest’s paranoia. As an enemy of the crown, because of her magic and because of her crimes, she had every reason to fear the justice of Arthur’s knights.

“Agravaine is right,” he said. His knights would have continued their arguments –all at once, if the angry way they all opened their mouths was any indicator – but he stopped them with a stern look. 

“She is to arrive soon?” he asked Agravaine. His uncle nodded. “Then there is no more time to argue. Camelot comes before any one person. Even me. Wait here,” he said to Leon, standing. The ministers and his knights rose with him. “I will return once the meeting is done.”

His tone told everyone that the conversation was done. They bowed him from the room.

He walked into the corridor, and Agravaine followed him. “Just a moment more of your time, Sire?” he asked.

“Of course, Uncle.” 

“I wanted to give you this, before you go to your meeting.” It was a golden bracelet, its clasp and main ornamentation a yellow jade oval framed by two feathered wings. “It will protect you,” Agravaine continued.

Arthur had been reaching out to accept the gift, but drew his hand back sharply at those words. “Magic?” he asked sharply, cutting his gaze up at his uncle.

“No, no,” Agravaine said quickly. “Would I ever be associated with such a thing? No, it will simply remind your guest of your position and how unwise it would be to stand against you, Sire.”

Arthur smiled privately. Agravaine had obviously never met her, but Arthur was not going to insult him by refusing the gift. It was attached to his wrist with a sharp click, and then Arthur clasped his hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll see you once this is done.”

“Before I see you, I suspect,” Agravaine agreed with a smile. 

And so, Arthur continued to his meeting and thus (and this was his third mistake), Arthur allowed Morgana Le Fay, the so-called Witch of the Waste and his father’s daughter, into his palace.

It was this last, of course, that was probably the most serious in hindsight. If he had spent more time that morning considering it, and ignoring the way sweat dripped uncomfortably down his back, the entire episode that followed may have been avoided. 

Though, perhaps not. It wasn’t as though he was rife with options. When he had been crowned King in the days following his father’s death, he had stepped into a truly venomous pit of vipers. War was brewing: the northern horizon growing dark with warships and distemper. Rumours of Cenred’s ill will toward Camelot had been brought to Uther’s ear for years, but the warlord to the north had always been frightened of Uther Pendragon. Not so his young, untested son. There would be war within the year, and though Arthur had faith in Camelot’s armies, he could not face an outside enemy while his country was not strong within.

And it was not; all had not been well within Camelot’s borders for many years. The numbers of those dreaded sorcerers were diminished and all of the people corrupted by magic were hunted, cornered in traps of Uther’s devising, but after ten years of persecution they were proving willing to fight back in deviously deadly ways. Magical assassins attacked Arthur with disturbing regularity, while conjurings and beasts terrorized his villages and lurked in his forests. The Wastes were the remnants of this battle between Camelot and the evil of magic, stripped of gentle life and poisoned with dark powers. It was said only the most powerful and corrupted wandered there anymore. 

Even Arthur’s own household wasn’t safe from the problems that plagued Camelot: Morgana had always been as dear to him as a sister, but neither of them had known it was truth. Arthur thought it was his father’s lies as much as her growing power that had driven her from Camelot and into the Wastes, and the woman who reappeared trailing black gossamer and smirking with blood-red lips had nothing left of the Morgana he had known. 

Tensions were mounting on all sides and Arthur had to do something to protect his people. Without a formal declaration of hostilities, which Cenred refused to give even while he prepared to attack, Arthur’s hands were tied. If Arthur could not stop that war, he would have to make Camelot a united front in order to weather it, but Arthur could trust no one with the taint of magic. 

He would not trust her, not after her betrayals of him, but Morgana had the ear of the magical people. She was the only one with real power who had stood up for them while Uther reigned. Nimueh had been consumed by plots of revenge until the end of her days; High Priestess Morgause cared little for the common magician or sorcerer, spent her time pursuing her own power and arcane knowledge; Cornelius Sigan was concerned only by his own lust for power, until he was contained and destroyed; worst of all was the Wizard Merlin, who was said to emerge from the Wastes only to trap incautious townsfolk and devour their hearts. This left only Morgana to turn to as Arthur tried to bring peace to Camelot, no matter what trepidations he had on the matter. If he could convince her that the end of magical attacks were in the best interest of all of Camelot, perhaps they would survive Cenred’s ambitious, the good and the magic alike. 

It didn’t mean it was a good idea but there was no time to change his mind. In between one paced length of the garden courtyard and the next, as Arthur turned on the cobbles, Morgana appeared at the entrance across from him. There was a small reflective pond between them, and Arthur moved around it to walk towards his sister. It was always a shock to see her, so different from the girl he’d grown up with. He could look back at their childhood, from this distance, and see that she’d never truly been the perfect noblewoman she had pretended to be. She had always had fire, and spirit, was never going to be happy contained in the space other people had made for her. She had always had anger. The kindness, though, that had tempered it, that had prompted her to fiercely protect those in her care, to befriend those who needed a friend, to always think of others before herself… that kindness was gone. The lack of it made her into a stranger.

“Hello, brother dearest,” Morgana drawled, stepping towards him. Her dark hair was wild about her face like a veil in wind. Her black gown revealed her neck and collarbones in a low, wide scoop, the material beneath clustered with ruffles and ties. The long sleeves gathered tightly at her biceps and then flared out, made of billowing sheer lace that was drawn tight again at her wrists. The black skirt of the dress fell to the courtyard floor and dragged there, a black puddle gathering on the stones, sliding like smoke as she stepped. 

“Morgana.” Arthur’s reply was steady, impersonal. He had let go of trying to reach her years ago, after too many of her attempts on his father’s life and throne. “Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Oh, how could I turn down the chance?” she asked, touching a finger to one of the flowers growing on draping vines on the courtyard’s stone wall. Her finger caressed the red petals. “I hardly get to see you since I was forced to flee into the Wastes. And we are _family_ , after all.” She turned back to him, head tilting to one side as she looked him over. “You look well, Arthur. Kingship agrees with you. You should have tried it years ago. Too bad Uther held on so long.”

Arthur felt anger burn hot inside his chest, he clenched his jaw. He had long been sure that Morgana had a hand in Uther’s death, and he knew she had hated him, but: “He was your father.”

Morgana’s mask slipped and she stepped forward, enraged, her eyes wide and wild. “He was _never_ my father. He hunted my kind to extinction, forcing the last of us into the Wastes that _his_ war on magic created. He would have killed me, had he known the kind of power I had.” She held out her hands, white-blue sparks shooting up into the air as liquid light gathered, building into a writhing white-light puddle which filled her cupped hands before tipping over her fingertips and flowing to the ground in bright, dangerous streams. Arthur flinched at the display before he could stop himself. “And so would you,” Morgana accused him, closing her fists. The light died. “You fear it just as much as he did. You fear it because it isn’t _yours_ and you don’t understand it… and Pendragons destroy what they can’t have.”

Arthur bristled. “You would know,” he said. “You think I haven’t heard about what is going on in the Wastes? I know you’re looking for something, Morgana; a weapon you can use to destroy Camelot.” He paused, looking her over, seeing his father in the way her jaw jumped as she tried to hide how close to the truth Arthur had hit. “You are more Pendragon than you like to think.”

“I am _nothing_ like him,” she hissed.

“Prove it. Help me stop this war between us.”

“To what end?” Morgana demanded. 

“For both of us! To have Camelot united again.” He took a step toward her. “As long as they do not use their powers for ill, I will leave them be. We could live in peace again.”

“Aw, how sweet.” She tutted. She hit a single fingertip against her jaw, her head tilted as she considered it. “Peace… before you turn back to us with your swords bared the minute the northern borders are quiet again. How efficient. You’ll only have to wipe clean those blades of blood the once.” She curled her hand into a fist. “I am no idiot, brother. I don’t want your _peace_.”

“Then what _do_ you want, Morgana?” Arthur asked, war-weary from the tension between them. “What can I do to prove to you that I want this to end?”

Morgana just watched him, dark eyes intent and that jester’s smirk gone from her lips. “There is nothing you can do, Arthur,” she said softly, showmanship gone to leave only naked hatred in her voice. “The only thing I want is to never look upon your face again.”

She turned then, and stalked from the courtyard, shoes clipping the stone. Arthur took a step forward to argue, or call her back perhaps, but he stumbled in a sudden burst of dizziness and when he recovered his vision from the mass of black specks, she was already gone. He looked around the now-empty courtyard. They would be facing the oncoming war with Camelot fighting itself. He took a deep breath, fighting against the urge to shout out his frustrations and worry; he had failed. The only thing changed from all of it was the flower Morgana had touched: the petals were now a sickly grey-black which dissolved into ash on the wind as he watched. Arthur sighed and squared his shoulders. There was no time to spend on his own concerns. He would bring the news of his failure to his ministers, and they would prepare for war.


	2. in which Arthur discovers a rather pressing problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [ohmystarsy](http://ohmystarsy.tumblr.com), who did the initial read of this chapter and made lots of great suggestions for improvement. Spot the differences, Kasia! ;)

Arthur walked back through the gardens. There was a weight to the air, and a sudden stirring of wind. Arthur looked up as a shadow fell, noting the angry swirl of grey clouds overhead. There would be a storm, then. It seemed to go perfectly with his own mood. 

His knights were cautious about his safety, especially after Uther’s death, and he would usually have a pair of guards within sight whenever he was outside his chambers. He had taken Agravaine’s suggestion to heart, though, when his uncle had suggested solitude for the meeting with Morgana, and the closest pair of guards Arthur passed were stationed at the doors leading into the castle. 

“Follow me,” he ordered as he walked past them, through the open doors and into the wide corridor that ran along the length of the gardens. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in streams of light on sunny days, but the hall was dull and grey as the weather outside worsened. Arthur listened to his footsteps against the marble floor as he walked, the possible ramifications of his meeting with Morgana turning in his head. She was hostile, had never made her aggressions towards him and his kingdom secret. If she had been planning to attack, she would have already had plans in motion; nothing in his meeting would _cause_ more danger to Camelot or its people, at least, but that didn’t mean any of them were safe.

He realized that it was only his footsteps he was listening to, and stopped. Turning around, he looked at the empty expanse of hallway behind him. His guards were nowhere to be seen. He had _said_ –. He sighed. He must have been more distracted than he’d thought. He would send Gwaine to relieve them from that post when he met with his knights to report. 

He passed a few servants and a pair of noblewomen on his way through the corridors deeper into the castle, but was too occupied with his thoughts to do more than nod as he passed. He had to think of his country as a whole, now, and he had learned from the cradle that the wisest decisions were ofttimes the most difficult. If he couldn’t make peace within his borders before Cenred attacked, war would destroy everything he had built. There was no one left who could reach all of the magic users, who would be capable of negotiating peace, with Morgana so set upon war. 

He pushed open the wooden doors and walked into the main hall. Gwaine, Elyan and Percival were sitting, one of Gwaine’s feet on the table, his chair pushed back on two legs. Lancelot and Leon stood, Leon in the space between the table and the door, rubbing his mouth, Lancelot leaning against the wall, looking out the window into the courtyard below. All five turned to the door as Arthur entered, but his face must have discouraged discussion; he was met with silence. Leon’s speculative gaze remained on the door Arthur left open as Arthur passed by him. Arthur walked to the table and sat wearily.

“We all know it’s not going to get anywhere,” Gwaine said, tipping his chair further back and pulling himself in. Arthur sighed. 

“I had to try,” he said as Leon replied, “He has to make an attempt.” Arthur smiled at Leon, but his knight hadn’t turned away from the door. 

“Still,” Gwaine mused. “Putting the Princess in danger,” (“Don’t call me that,” Arthur growled. He was ignored) “for something everyone knows is not going to bring us anything… I don’t like it.”

“There are dangers he can avoid and dangers he cannot. We just have to protect him as well as we can.” Elyan said. 

“And besides,” Lancelot said to the window. “It was Lord Agravaine’s suggestion.” There was a weight to the way he spoke, and knowing glances were exchanged between Percival, Elyan and Gwaine. 

“You don’t trust Agravaine?” Arthur asked, startled. He was his _uncle_ ; he surely had only Arthur’s best interests at heart. But, the silence that met his query answered it. He rubbed his face with both hands, rough enough that he saw spots behind his eyelids. That was the very reason they wouldn’t have come to him with mere suspicions. Agravaine was family, and Arthur trusted him. He had never given Arthur a reason not to. What could make him betray his own flesh and blood? Arthur couldn’t fathom it. He realised that the silence had stretched on too long, his question going unanswered. “Are you angry with me for refusing to let you all come to the meeting?” he asked with a groan, dropping his hands from his face, hitting the table with a thump. “Nothing happened, obviously. She left me unharmed.”

“He should have been back by now,” Leon muttered.

“Who?” Arthur asked, looking up at them. There was a knot twisting in his stomach and a sour taste in the back of his mouth, the kind of warning he got on the road before bandits attacked, or on the field before a battle turned ill. Something was wrong.

“It’s a good thing if they don’t just insult each other and part ways, isn’t it?” Elyan asked. Lancelot moved away from the window to join Leon in his vigil on the open door and the hallway beyond.

“There are guards at the entrances to the gardens,” Gwaine said. His chair legs thumped against the floor as he took his feet from the table, sitting alert. “And she wouldn’t attack him in the castle. She’s mad, but she’s clever about it. There’s no way she would get away with it.”

“Gwaine!” Arthur said, standing. “I’m right here.”

“Look,” Leon muttered. There was a guard hurrying up the hallway towards them. All the knights stood to await his message. Arthur rubbed a hand over his mouth. They were notorious for their pranks, the group of them, but they wouldn’t joke like this. Something was very wrong – 

“The King is missing,” the guard gasped, losing breath over the shock rather than the run up the corridor; his face was pale under his dark complexion, his eyes wide.

“Report!” Leon ordered over the exclamations of the other knights.

“The Witch of the Waste left the gardens. There wasn’t any reason… we didn’t hear any fighting or the like, but His Majesty was taking so long, we had to check. We searched the gardens. There’s no sign of him.”

“You idiots,” Gwaine snapped, and Elyan, his voice uncharacteristically harsh, asked, “how long before you thought to check on him?”

“Enough,” Leon ordered them. “Send a report to the walls,” he said to the guard. “Get them to hold Morgana if she hasn’t already left. Lancelot, have them sound the alarms and lock everything down. All available men and guards are to start the search –”

“Not quite yet.” Everyone turned to face the door as Agravaine walked in. He looked over the knights as they bowed, and a small smile Arthur had never seen before twisted the corners of his mouth. When the knights rose, he had schooled his expression into one of concern. “Go collect the other guards who know about this. Bring them to me, quietly,” Agravaine ordered. The guard looked to Leon, who nodded after a pause. Agravaine turned to the knights. “We will keep this to ourselves. No one must know Arthur is not in the castle.”

There was a long pause. Arthur, watching them discuss his disappearance in full view of the group of them, had thought the panic building in his stomach couldn’t get any worse, but Agravaine’s appropriation of Leon’s command in order to cease the search took the blood from his head, leaving him reeling. He touched fingertips to the round table to ground himself.

“Sir Agravaine, we need to find the king. We cannot do that silently,” Lancelot argued. Gwaine’s lips were pressed tightly together. Percival looked from Lancelot to Agravaine to Leon, shifting his weight.

“We cannot run a kingdom in panic,” Agravaine said. “This is what Arthur would want. Not to chase after whispered rumours and breed fear and chaos on the eve of war.”

“’Rumours’? She was there alone with him, how much more evidence –” 

Leon held out a hand to stop Gwaine’s questioning. “Yes, my lord,” he said mildly. “We will conduct the search with discretion –”

“There are no secrets when guards are turning the castle upside down,” Agravaine interrupted. “Allow me to deal with this problem. You all will keep quiet.”

“Sir Agravaine –”

“You have your orders.” 

The knights watched as Agravaine walked from the room. Elyan slammed a fist down on the table. “We knew not to trust him.”

“Fat lot of good that does us now,” Gwaine replied, his voice tight. His hands shook with small tremors.

“We’re not going to follow his orders,” Percy asked. “We’re going to search for Arthur anyway.”

Leon nodded. “We keep it quiet. Agravaine has shown his true colours, but if he knows we aren’t following orders, we won’t be able to do anything to help Arthur. Trusted knights only. The rest will be put on general patrols. Elyan, deal with that. The rest of you, split the barracks and guard posts and collect your groups.” The knights began hurrying from the room. 

As they exited into the corridor, Arthur followed behind uselessly. His thoughts flicked past too quickly for him to catch onto a plan for what to do next as shock clouded his mind. She had done this. Morgana had done this to him. But what, exactly, was this curse? Invisibility? But it was also obvious they couldn’t hear him. He had worried about physical attacks, but should have known Morgana would be more creative that simply hurting him. With a single stroke, Camelot was left leaderless while teetering on the brink of war, his knights were distracted, and Agravaine – for some unknown reason - was spreading disorder further by setting himself against his knights. He needed to get someone to realize what was happening, but he didn’t know how to get their attention. He could move things – he had opened the doors – but he doubted very much that they would make the correct assumptions. He was beginning to feel a deep well of worry build in his stomach as the questions built: how long would the spell last, would it wear off, what was Agravaine planning, what would happen to Camelot without him? Each of his knights split off to collect their own groups of trusted men, leaving Arthur hesitating behind. But Lancelot, too, slowed. Once the others were well off, he turned and walked deeper into the castle.

Arthur bit his lip. Surely, Lancelot would not betray him? He followed. 

They walked quickly along one of the main corridors through the center of the castle, and then turned off onto one of the narrow passageways most often used by servants. They climbed a narrow turning staircase, Arthur flattening himself against the wall to avoid colliding with the maids and errand-boys passing by, and then hurrying to catch up with Lancelot. They weren’t in the servants’ quarters, when they left the staircase, but instead in the wing of the castle where the scribes and ministers’ assistants worked. Lancelot walked past them, up another small staircase and knocked on a familiar door. 

Arthur watched, confused, as his knight walked inside the physician’s chambers. He didn’t quite make it inside before Lancelot shut the door behind him, and had to jump back to avoid getting closed in against the doorframe. He counted off fifteen seconds impatiently, and then turned the door handle slowly, pushing the door open only enough to slip inside.

“–when she was here,” Lancelot was saying. Gaius was standing beside his worktable, books spread across it, open and marked in an unfathomable pattern.

Arthur walked into the room, but neither man took notice. “Gaius!” Nothing. His attention stayed fixed on Lancelot. He had his reading glasses on, and regarded Lancelot evenly, inscrutable. 

“Do you have any ideas, Gaius?”

“She is much changed since I knew her,” Gaius replied. “The years between now and when she was here as Uther’s ward and my patient have been long.”

“But you knew her,” Lancelot insisted. He paused and then took a deep breath. “And you know magic.”

Gaius turned his full attention to the knight, one eyebrow raising. Arthur started. Gaius? Magic? No, it couldn’t be. Arthur trusted Gaius. _Uther_ had trusted Gaius. There was no way someone so close to them had been harbouring such a foul secret all these years. Arthur’s anger was only exasperated by the impotency of his position: he could yell or question or threaten, but it seemed not even the small birds on Gaius’s windowsill would deign to hear him.

“He told me,” Lancelot said quietly.

Gaius sighed, removing his glasses to turn them in one hand. “I know she went to the Wastes, when she left here,” he said. “If I knew any more, I would tell you. If Arthur has vanished, after speaking to her,” he trailed off. “Why was he alone with her?”

“Agravaine convinced him.” There was a weight to the glance they exchanged that made Arthur’s stomach clench. No, his uncle had misguided him but surely… _surely_ it had been a _mistake_.

“I can’t guess what she’s done with him,” Gaius continued, “but we both know he would not have left Camelot willingly. I don’t know where she is, and wouldn’t be any use to you, regardless; the little magic I once knew has faded from my mind.”

“He could help. Can you get in touch with him?” Lancelot asked. 

“The door only works one way,” Gaius replied. “And it has been a long time since he visited regularly.” Arthur looked between them, lost. How much of the lives of those closest to him had been completely hidden from him? And why? “I will send letters to the practitioners I still know, and I will go to the gardens, and see if I can find anything more.”

Lancelot thanked him, and Arthur moved aside as he left the room. Gaius bustled about the shelves, and Arthur looked about the familiar chambers. He took a deep breath, purposefully set aside the secrets he had learned, settling his full attention on the task at hand. Gaius, his knights, Agravaine, the guards and servants he’d passed in the corridor… if none of them could see him, there was little point in wandering the castle trying to get someone’s attention. He looked at the books on the table and nearly hit himself in the face; of course, he could write a note. He hurried to the table, moving books aside until he’d found Gaius’s ink and pen and a scrap of parchment. Scribbling quickly, the ink blotting almost illegibly, he explained the little he knew. He became aware of the silence in the room as he finished, and looked up to see Gaius standing on the other side of the table watching as the pen fell from empty space back to the table, and the paper offered itself to him.

He read the note silently, looking up sharply part-way through to regard the empty space where Arthur had been standing. He snorted; he was now pacing the floor. His boots on the stone floor were loud to him, but Gaius didn’t seem to hear them.

“Well, now, this is an issue,” Gaius said finally. 

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” Arthur replied. 

“I assume you came in with Lancelot.” Gaius was quiet for a moment, thinking through all that was said while Arthur listened on unseen. He sighed. “I’m sorry I never told you. My involvement in magic wasn’t a secret, not really. Your father knew. I had practiced, before the Purge. After, I swore to him that I would never use it again, or harbour those who did. It’s been many years; I wouldn’t have the power to break a spell of Morgana’s, even if I knew how. And I don’t.”

“My father, too?” Arthur rubbed his hands over his face. “Did everyone keep secrets?”

Gaius turned his head to look across the room at the small set of stairs that led to a closed door. Arthur knew that beyond lay a simple room with a bed for long-term patients. Surely, Gaius wouldn’t have spoken so freely about magic if someone were within, but looking at the door seemed to make up his mind. 

“I can’t explain all of my lies and omissions. Now is not the time. Morgana’s curses are legendary in their power, and her will has been twisted by years of hatred and anger into something truly malicious. This is not the extent of her plan,” he promised gravely. “You are in danger every moment you stay here, especially with Lord Agravaine in charge.”

Arthur wrote a furious denial, the pen scratching through the parchment.

Gaius’s gaze was a little too far to the left, and low, but Arthur could see the sympathy in his expression and was glad he wasn’t meeting it straight-on. “I know he’s the last of your family,” he said. “But I have been suspicious of him for some time, and your knights have as well.” Seeing the pen jerk angrily into the air, Gaius held up a hand, palm out. 

‘Why should I trust you now?’ he wrote.

Gaius closed his eyes and sighed, wrinkles deepening around his face. “I have served your father loyally since before you were born,” he said, voice soft. “I have loved you since you were a babe in arms. If your hatred of magic overtakes all of that, remember the trust you have in your knights. They have done nothing to lose your faith in their judgement.”

Arthur shook his head, but left the pen lying still. He. He didn’t know what to believe.

“Think on it,” Gaius continued, “because there is no time for it now. Tell me, did Morgana do anything else? Did she touch you? Give you anything, or take anything from you, particularly a hair or trace of your blood?”

Arthur shuddered as he wrote, ‘No.'

“Then her plan must have another part and you must not allow her to succeed. I ask that you trust me when I say that Lord Agravaine must not know where you are. If you go to him, I fear terrible things will happen. Sire, please.”

Arthur thought of skinned knees and childhood flus, nightmares and insecurities and terrors that always seemed so much more vivid and deadly when viewed through the eyes of a child. Uther had always believed such things were beneath a prince. Besides, he was not the kind of man to give comfort, even to a lonely, motherless boy. 

Gaius had been. Gaius had always been there, and though Arthur could not turn his back on Agravaine, not yet, he knew he trusted that Gaius believed it. He was not misleading Arthur, or trying to harm him. 

‘Okay’, he wrote. ‘Tell me what to do.’

The relief washed over Gaius’s face. “Arthur, you need to break this spell, before Camelot falls into ruin or worse, into Morgana’s hands. There is only one person with the knowledge and power to counter one of Morgana’s curses and save your kingdom. You need to find the Wizard Merlin.”


	3. in which Arthur is compelled to flee Camelot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented and left kudos so far! I really appreciate it. <3

“This is a terrible plan,” Arthur said loudly, but Gaius continued to speak over him. 

The spell was merely an hour old, and Arthur was well and truly fed up with the entire invisibility experience. He walked toward the door angrily before turning back and facing the room again. There was little satisfaction in storming out when Gaius wouldn’t be able to see it done, and Arthur was a king, not a child, but still… the plan Gaius was outlining was beyond preposterous. 

“– have heard of his moving castle. It is intentionally difficult to track down.”

“That is the most impractical thing I have ever heard of.”

“There are other ways in, but you’ll only be able to access the door on the castle itself, and for that you will have to journey into the Wastes.”

Arthur nodded sarcastically. “Of _course_ I will.” He ran both hands through his hair and then Arthur grabbed the parchment and quill angrily, stabbing through the paper twice as he wrote:

_I will NOT rely on magic!_

Gaius read it and sighed. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and when he looked up, his eyes were filled with regret. “There are things I have waited too long to tell you,” he said quietly, voice thick. “Things I have let you believe because I had no other choice or, sometimes, because it was easier than to fight. I wish I had done things differently, as all old men wish, but for now there is no time. If anyone can break the spell, it will be him, and there is no time to waste.”

Arthur looked away, jaw cracking as he clenched it. To put faith in one of _them_ … but Gaius was right; there was no time to spend on delays and doubts, not when Camelot was being put in danger in his absence. He gritted his teeth, but wrote his agreement. 

“I’ll walk you through the gatehouse, but you’re on your own to get through the city,” Gaius said. He made a face. “I don’t want you to go on your own, Sire, but there will be suspicions if I – or any of your knights – vanish. We don’t know who else is working with Morgana, already in the castle. You’ll be safe once you get through the city, past the guards at the city gate, safely across the Wastes, and find the Wizard’s castle.”

Arthur stared. That was quite a list of obstacles. “That’s not at all reassuring,” he told the ceiling. 

Gaius, of course, couldn’t hear his complaints. He made his way to the door, hurrying Arthur into the corridor. Gaius led Arthur through the castle briskly, clearing the way of servants and pesky closed doors. They passed through the courtyard. The storm Arthur had felt brewing had blown in, though it brought no rain. Instead, lightning flashed in sheets overhead, and the wind blew dust into his eyes and made the pendants on the walls flutter furiously. Gaius didn’t speak as they approached the gatehouse. Leon had managed to increase security discreetly – Arthur could see some of his most trusted knights keeping an alert watch on the people passing through – but no one would stop the royal physician. As they walked down the ramp towards the street level, Gaius stopped to look through the basket of supplies he’d grabbed. There was steady traffic in and out of the castle, and Arthur had to avoid being run into by a waddling merchant and a crowd of scribes, sticking close to Gaius’s side. 

“I’ll have to make my regular rounds, to keep anyone from growing suspicious. You should be able to slip out,” Gaius muttered as he sorted supplies. “Be careful, Your Majesty. We need you to return, safe and sound. Camelot needs you, and it would break my old heart to lose you.” Arthur blinked carefully, clearing his throat as Gaius walked away. He cursed first Morgana’s choices and worked his way through her existence in general. Feeling slightly better, he turned towards the lower city. He looked down the steep main street, watching as the early afternoon crowds hurried about their lives. These were his people, and he had to view them as obstacles. He squared his shoulders and stuck close to the walls, making his way down the hill. 

Camelot had spread far beyond its original walls as the city grew along with the capital’s wealth. The castle still stood on the highest point. The hill had provided defense in the city’s earliest days, with only one side accessible. The escarpment wrapped around almost half of the hill, its sheer face impossible for enemies to scale. The city’s steep streets ran from the castle’s main gates on two sides of the hill, leading down to the original wall, now unmanned since the rest of the city sprawled past it, wrapping around the hill further in the direction of the escarpment. 

Now all Arthur had to do was make his way through the bustling city, from one end to another, invisible and inaudible. Arthur had known it was a bad plan. The castle road was a success, but as soon as he reached the cobbled main street, where the roads began to branch out to either side and traffic picked up, his pace slowed to a crawl. He couldn’t take two steps without having to jump out of the way of a woman loaded down with baskets of produce, and when he was out of her way, a wagon passed by, the donkey pulling it snapping in his direction, its nose not fooled and in a foul temper because of it. Then, a crowd of children ran from a side street, one of them barrelling into his stomach, knocking his air from him. The child looked up from the street where she’d bounced back, wide-eyed. The group of them took off shrieking, and Arthur had to hurry. If anyone believed them, if someone thought magic was afoot in Camelot, there would be panic. 

There was a rhythm to anticipating the movement of the crowds Arthur had never had to learn before. By the time he was past the old walls and into the lower city he was more adept at avoiding near-collisions, which was just in time for the streets to get more crowded. There were market squares, vendors lining the streets, and alleys crisscrossing the main roads. Wagons passed him, wheels bouncing on the cobbles. Arthur passed a meat vendors stall and the dogs gathered there growled him along.

It was as he was passing a group of giggling merchants’ daughters that he began to notice an uncomfortable pressure between his shoulder blades that he tried to ignore. It felt like he was being followed, but that was impossible: he was invisible, after all. He kept careful watch behind him as he walked, finally spotting an older man slipping between roadside stalls. They made eye contact, and the stranger abandoned stealth, hurrying toward Arthur.

Arthur turned and rushed through the crowd. He was unarmed; he hadn’t worn his sword to the meeting in the gardens… at Agravaine’s insistence. He ducked between two ladies haggling a jewelry vendor, picking up the pace. 

As he reached an intersection, he heard a whistle behind him. Two men stood from where they were lounging by the square’s fountain. They hurried towards him. Three to one, now. Even though they tracked him through the crowd without a problem, everyone else still looked right through him; he was definitely still invisible. He would bet everything he owned that they had been waiting for him, sent by Morgana as part of whatever plot she had in place. They would be sorcerers, or worse. 

Arthur ran. It was too much to hope that patrolling guards would stop them for suspicious behaviour, probably, but Arthur hoped for it as he ducked his head and weaved through the crowd. Turning sharply while behind a set of wagons, he ran up a narrow set of stairs between two buildings, hopping over a low stone wall and sprinting down an alleyway. Suddenly, a man stepped out in front of him. Arthur skidded to a stop, and then began backing up; somehow the older man he had seen first had cut him off. Arthur turned back in time to see his two other pursuers jog around the corner. He was trapped.

“Come now, your Majesty,” the man behind Arthur said. “This doesn’t have to be difficult for anyone. My name is Ruadan. This is Dagr and Ebor.” He gestured to the hulking men who blocked Arthur’s escape. Ruadan’s tone was soothing and he held his hands outstretched. Arthur had sudden sympathy for every horse he’d ever broken in. “We mean you no harm. The Witch of the Wastes just wants to have a more… in-depth discussion.”

Arthur kept his back to the alley wall, hooking a broken cobblestone closer with one foot. It wouldn’t do much in a fight, but he wouldn’t be taken anywhere easily. 

“You know,” he said, glancing upwards. “I don’t think I have time in my schedule for that, sorry.”

He bent low, pushing off into a jump, grabbing the low balcony above him. He kicked out as he swung himself up, catching one of the men in the jaw as he made to grab at Arthur’s ankle. He would have made it up, one leg was already over the railing, when Ruadan raised a hand, palm forward. There was a dizzying rush as his feet were pulled out from under him and he fell backwards, hitting his head on the ground, his breath punched from his lungs. Gods _cursed_ magic. His hand lashed out and he grabbed the loose cobblestone, pushing himself up on an elbow and throwing it hard in one motion. Ruadan cursed as it hit him in the shoulder, twisting him to the side. 

Arthur rolled. Before he could get to his feet, he was grabbed from behind. It was their mistake. He had been a trained knight long before he was king. He could hold his own against any two of his own knights, and they were among the best fighters in all five kingdoms. He rose and kicked to the side, hitting the man closest in the muscles of his thigh. He stumbled and cursed. These men didn’t stand a chance against him in a fair fight.

Except, they didn’t fight fair. The second man threw up a hand and Arthur was pulled across the alley, hitting the wall opposite with enough force to crack his teeth together. He was dragged up off the ground, his feet searching fruitlessly for the ground. _Bloody sorcerers_ , Arthur tried to curse, but just let out a gurgling croak. An invisible hand gripped his neck. He struggled against the unseen bonds as pressure built in his lungs.

“Hey, come now,” a new voice said. “That’s enough.”

The pressure eased off of Arthur’s throat and he dropped to the ground gasping. He pushed off the wall to gain his footing, coughing fitfully as he dragged in air. As his vision sharpened, his gaze fell on the new arrival. He was a young man, dark-haired and commonly dressed in bright blues and red. He was young - younger than Arthur - and yet the way he eyed the situation stood at odds with his off-the-farm fashion. Despite his admonishment, his posture was loose and non-confrontational. He had entered the alley from behind Ruadan, who didn’t bother to turn and face him. The other henchmen stepped up so they were blocking Arthur from view, but the newcomer shifted, keeping Arthur in sight.

“This is the business of the Witch of the Waste. Move along.” Ruadan said over his shoulder, as if it settled the matter. And it would, Arthur thought. No one would be stupid enough to challenge – 

“I don’t think I’ll do that, actually.”

Arthur could see Ruadan’s expression freeze. He slowly turned to face the stranger. There was a tense moment, and then Ruadan threw up a hand, barking a word Arthur didn’t know. Fire flew from his palm, wrapping around the dark-haired man in a burning shroud, but the flames were there for only a flash of a moment before they transformed into a ring of steam. The man at the center looked up, eyes glowing, and the steam flew at Arthur’s attackers. Arthur felt the heat of it as it hit them. They shouted and Arthur dropped to the alley floor, hitting his face on the dirty ground. One of the tavern thugs grabbed at him and he kicked out, catching him in the thigh, and then the back of the knees. The ground rolled under his back. Arthur, already flat, merely grunted as he bounced slightly, but he could hear his attackers shout as they were thrown from their feet, landing hard on the cobbled streets.

He rolled and was scrambling to his feet when his arm was grabbed.

“Come on, come on now!” Before he could get his bearings, he was tugged upwards. It was the stranger.

Arthur pulled his arm from his grip. “You’re a sorcerer!” Arthur accused. 

“Do we have time for that?” His rescuer asked incredulously, throwing his arms out in a flailing gesture back towards Arthur’s would-be kidnappers. Arthur looked behind; his pursuers weren’t yet on their feet, but they were on their way. When the strange sorcerer grabbed his arm again and tugged, Arthur ran with him.

“You didn’t kill them?” Arthur asked as they ran along the alley, buildings rising on either side of them, their footsteps bouncing echoes that chased them down the narrow stretch.

His rescuer shot an incredulous look over his shoulder as they turned and hurried down a set of stairs leading into a market. “I’m not going to kill anyone! It wasn’t that hot! Not as hot as fire,” he muttered darkly. He led the way through the crowd, dodging stalls and the waving wares of the stalls’ owners. The wind had picked up further, snapping through the canvas tarps covering the stalls and blowing goods across the counters. A woman clutched at her hat as it flew from her grasp past them. They ducked under rugs hanging between two stalls and were off into another alley. They ran down its shadowed length towards the light at the other end; just before they reached the next street, he held an arm out to stop Arthur. Arthur stepped back before it could touch his chest. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into with the Witch. Maybe she has every right to be angry with you.” He peered out around the corner, watching behind them for any sign of Morgana’s sorcerers.

“Then why help me?” Arthur shot back. 

He looked back at Arthur, his expression serious. He opened his mouth, and then closed it as if he were reconsidering. Instead, he shrugged and grinned widely. “Half-way up a wall, covered in alley dirt? You looked like you could use a friend.”

Arthur wiped reflexively at his face, scowling when it made his companion’s grin widen. “We are not friends. I was all right on my own,” Arthur protested. His rescuer had a narrow frame and slender, twiggy limbs. His face was all cheekbone and wide eyes, pale skin made fairer and even more delicate by the darkness of his hair. Arthur had not been saved by this grinning idiot. He refused on the basic principle of the thing. “I’ve been trained to fight from birth.”

“Oh, and you were definitely fearsome,” he replied with a quiver of amusement. Arthur shot him a glare, rubbing roughly at the dirt on his face again.

His rescuer ( _not_ , Arthur thought) looked back at the street. “They’re following,” he said.

“Can’t you get rid of them?” Arthur hissed.

“Not without hurting them,” he replied. “Now hold on.” He backed them up and threw out a hand, whispered in a language Arthur didn’t know. Arthur flinched back when his eyes glowed golden and the crates lining the wall of the alley tumbled down to block the entrance to the street. Arthur was hurried in the opposite direction. 

“Where are you trying to get to?” he asked Arthur.

“I need out of the city,” Arthur replied, watching as he tilted his head as if considering something. He turned back to Arthur, and Arthur balked at the grin he wore. 

“I have an idea,” he said. 

There was a crash behind them; the barrier hadn’t held Morgana’s henchmen back long. They both took off running. They ducked under a washing line, skidding around a sharp turn and racing down an alleyway. 

“I’m not going to like your plan,” Arthur huffed out.

“Better than theirs!” 

Arthur skid to a halt, boots sliding against smooth cobblestones, when his arm was grabbed. He was pulled towards a staircase leading up to the second story of one of the buildings. Arthur followed close behind, fingers skidding against the stranger’s calf when Arthur stumbled. The staircase led onto a wrap-around balcony, the second floor probably rented out to tenants, or the home of the main floor shop’s owners. Arthur looked down over the railing in time to see his pursuers catch sight of him. He ran around the building, finding the stranger on the other side, craning over the railing to look down over the street below. They had circled around, in the chase, somehow; they were overlooking the city’s main street, crowded with traffic. Farmers and travellers were leaving the city, eager to return to their own homes before darkness fell, unsold wares and purchased goods safe in wagons and packs. Guards patrolled the streets, and over the city Arthur could see some of the war balloons his Knights kept on patrol on the Wastes side, their ropes taut against the wind. It was loud, without the buildings as shelter and made Arthur’s eyes water. He could see the outer gates, too, if he leaned over the railing to see past the neighbouring building. Fat lot of good it did; there was only one staircase, and the sorcerers chasing him would be nearly up it already.

“What’s your brilliant plan then?” he asked. 

“I’m going to throw you over the railing.”

Arthur stared at him, incredulous. “I was right. I don’t like this plan at all.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! I just need a wagon leaving. They won’t be able to catch you before you get out of the city. There’s no way the guards will just let them pass; they’re too suspicious.”

“It’s ten feet to the street!” Arthur protested. “They’ll be able to catch me easily enough when I break both my legs!”

“I’ll float you down. You’ll be fine. Probably. I think.”

“Oh, you think!”

“They’re coming up,” he reminded Arthur, his gaze searching the street below. “You don’t want to be at the mercy of the Witch of the Waste.”

“I don’t want to break my legs either.”

“Oh, look, her! There! Her wagon has hay; that works.”

There were heavy footsteps behind them. The sorcerers had caught up.

“Try not to flail!” the stranger said earnestly. His eyes flashed and Arthur didn’t have time for another protest; he felt something grip him around the middle, and he was flying. He didn’t just fall, he was thrown through the air in an arc away from the building, too high, too too high. Then he was falling and there was a flash of blue sky, red pendants hanging from the balconies, grey stone, of blue, of red, of grey, blue, red, grey and Arthur closed his eyes hard, tucking his elbows in before everything slowed and he felt his hair rise from his head, his shirt pull from his chest as if he were underwater and then – 

He landed hard, all of his breath forced from his lungs in a single gust. He flailed as he gasped for air, getting the hay out of his face while he struggled to sit up, his arms and legs moving more with panic than efficiency. The farmer driving the wagon was looking back, confused, but her gaze passed right through Arthur as she searched the street for whatever she must have run over, to make her wagon jump so violently.

Arthur looked up at the buildings. He could see Morgana’s henchmen at the railing of one of them, and just stopped himself from making a rude gesture. His rescuer was nowhere to be seen. “He’s completely mental,” he half laughed in pure relief that he had survived the encounter. And then a shadow fell over the cart and Arthur looked up at the city’s wall. The farmer gave the guards at the gate her pass and they were through the archway, hooves and wagon wheels echoing against the curved stone walls before there was a flash of bright light and they were on the other side, ever closer to the Wastes.


	4. which goes to show that stalking a moving castle is not as easy as it sounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artwork in this chapter by the ever-so-lovely [Kasia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleksandrah) who should post something on her Ao3 like artwork or something hint hint.

He would have preferred to stay on the wagon, but soon enough the first of the disused dirt roads leading into the Wastes began to appear, trailing away crookedly through the forest. Unable to put it off any longer, Arthur hopped down, catching his step as the wagon carried on without noticing his departure. He nearly stumbled and fell as dizziness overtook him. He pressed a hand to his forehead and then shook his head to clear it; those sorcerers must have hit him harder than he’d thought.

He stood in the crossroads for a long moment, looking up the road that led to the Wastes, as the wagon he’d hitched a ride on disappeared around a curve in the road, the wind blowing loudly through the trees around him, whistling in the curve of his ear. The ruts from wagon and cart wheels were still indented, but grass grew tall in a line down the center, and closed in at the sides. No one would choose to travel through the Wastes when there was another option – any other option – available. Even the most skinflint of merchants would pay the extra days’ wages for their caravans to circumvent the Wastes. 

“Won’t find any sorcerers standing here,” he said finally. Squaring his shoulders, he took the first step along the road. The storm grew even louder, the branches and trunks creaking in the high wind and thunder rumbling angrily from somewhere far in the distance. Still no rain fell.

“Of course,” Arthur complained. “It’s not as if something good could happen to my country while I have so much else to worry about.” As he continued along the road, it grew narrower, growing in from the edges. The trees began to thin out, stumps and fallen trunks slowly growing more numerous than healthy trees. As he passed an old tree leaning over the road, Arthur stumbled again, reaching out one hand to catch himself on the trunk. He nearly fell outright when the tree dissolved under his hand into ash, just as the rose in his garden had, after Morgana’s visit. He rubbed his fingers together, anger a dull pulse in his head; this was what magic had done to Camelot. He squared his shoulders and continued on. Without the shelter of the foliage, the wind was rough against Arthur’s face. He reached the cusp of a hill and looked out over the Wastes. 

With the way commoners and nobles alike whispered about it, one would have pictured the entire land burned into black ash, ground churned up like a battlefield. And the damage was great, with most of the trees dying down, leaving their branches bare and rotting trunks leaning precariously on their neighbours, or falling to the ground, ash on the wind, but there was still underbrush covering the rolling hills. Wild grass, goldenrod, and heather waved in the wild, and shrubs covered many of the hillsides in dense, thorny thickets.

Still, Arthur repressed a shiver. It didn’t look dead. It didn’t look cursed, or haunted, or any such nonsense, but there was a presence to the place that Arthur ignored by putting his feet determinedly one in front of the other. The pulsing in his head that he thought was anger was turning into an annoying headache, hard behind his eyes. The wind was deafening, but Arthur thought that without it, there would be no chatter of creatures, no birdcalls or rustling in the grass. Additionally, though the landscape seemed so empty, Arthur still felt watched, and had to keep himself from twisting every few seconds to keep an eye on the road behind him. 

He kicked pebbles ahead of himself, watching as they rolled down the hill into the valley below. The hills rose on either side and softened the wind, a bit. “If a pebble is kicked without anyone to see the invisible person who kicked it,” he wondered, “am I more invisible, or less?” He kicked another set of stones, watching as they collected their fellows in a miniature landslide down the path. “And is a king who wanders the Wastes talking to himself because no one else can hear him a king at all?” He had been left with no options, and he trusted Gaius; if he believed that the Wizard Merlin was Arthur’s best chance, then Arthur would track him down, no matter how unsettling the prospect. Camelot was his: its people relied on him to protect them; its lands were in his safekeeping; it was his responsibility to lead them and he would do anything to be the king they deserved. But now, in the Wastes, he had realized the true breadth of the task set ahead of him. He knew the size of the Wastes; he had listened to reports and watched cartographers update their maps every year, but the true vastness had never really struck him until he was alone within it. How was he going to find a moving castle in all this space? 

And even if he did… the next step was convincing one of the worst sorcerers in the land to help him.

“And I’m still in this stupid jacket,” he yelled at the countryside, his voice getting lost in the wind and empty space. He allowed himself one more angry breath before he kept moving. He would find the castle and the Wizard would help him, or Arthur would bring the stupid portable shack down around his ears. He looked down at his feet as the ground rose into a steep hill, keeping his balance on the loose dirt of the road and careful to avoid the deep, narrow trenches eroded by old rainfall. The wind stripped the moisture from his lips and stung his eyes. When he was in the valleys and blocked from it, though, the humidity trapped by the low clouds had him soaked in sweat. 

He raised a hand to wipe his forehead on his sleeve as he climbed a steep hill in the path where the loose gravel made his footing precarious. Distracted, he jumped when he felt something hard hit his face as he rubbed his sleeve along it, thinking spiders or worse – but, no. It was the bracelet Agravaine had given him. Odd, that, he thought as he continued the climb up the hill, gaze on the bracelet, rubbing the back of his other hand on his throbbing head… he had forgotten all about the gift. He blinked hard as his headache sharpened, stabbing behind his eyes, and he tripped on the loose footing, catching himself with both palms just before he fell flat. Shaking his head, and his stinging palms, he looked around as he caught his breath. What had he been thinking about? The excitement of the day was obviously catching up to him, and fast, if he was falling asleep on his feet.

Not only that, but so was the evening. The sun was starting its descent towards the horizon. As Arthur walked, he watched the sky in the west redden as the light faded and started to pink. Arthur shivered as the sun reached the horizon and the air cooled dramatically. It was still summer so the weather wouldn’t necessitate a shelter, but Arthur loathed the idea of spending a night unprotected in the Wastes. His attack in Camelot had proven that sorcerers could see him, despite the curse, and everyone knew those who corrupted themselves with those dark powers lurked in the Wastes. The thought of making camp in the dark with _them_ nearby made Arthur shudder. 

Twilight settled in, and as the light faded, Arthur realized that he had little choice. He fell twice more when his feet caught on the uneven, overgrown path. The moon rose, but showed only as a haze through the clouds. Besides, his last meal had been breakfast, and he should try to eat some of the supplies Gaius had given hi – He had to stop as the mere thought of food made him retch. Suddenly, he was bent double and blinking away the black dots that swam in his vision as he tried to catch his breath after the dry heaves. How had he gotten so sick? He coughed as he straightened, wiping his mouth and then his forehead and froze as the motion reminded him of… something. There was something he had forgotten, just out of reach of his memory, and he was sure it was important, even as it dodged away from him. 

His head pounded, and Arthur felt a full-body shiver that told him fever was setting in. He just had to sleep, he decided. He would remember in the morning, after he’d slept.

The sunset glow and the moon’s haze was brighter at the top of the hill, and he planned to look for somewhere safe to camp with the last of the light. As Arthur topped the hill, all thoughts of rest came to a stumbling halt with the sight of the castle barreling toward him.

Arthur realized he was grasping at his side for the sword he wasn’t wearing, and stopped himself. None of the reports brought to him had done the construction justice. It was massive. Arthur had always thought that its name was an exaggeration, but it was larger than any village cottage or farmhouse. Taller than it was wide, it was more a tower than a full castle, and it rose in a jagged point towards the sky. There, any resemblance to any structure Arthur had ever seen ended. Nonsensically, it had tiny legs underneath the bulk of the castle. It didn’t float like the war balloons, it crawled across the hills of the Wastes. 

And it was fast. In the few moments Arthur had stood staring, the castle had gained on him, growing in size as it closed in until he was craning his neck to continue examining it. He watched it approach, and found himself bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, weariness and illness forgotten as he readied himself to give chase. He shook his head at what his life had become and took off.

It turned sharply to the right as he ran toward it, as if it knew he was there. Avoiding him neatly, it skid along the hillside and took off, little mechanical legs pumping furiously, Arthur close behind. Arthur may have been forced to leave the training of his knights to Leon after his coronation, but he made sure to still visit the training yards every day. Despite spending most of his time in seemingly endless meetings, he was still used to moving in a heavy suit of armour and he gained on the castle quickly. Dodging behind one of the legs, Arthur looked up at the mechanic underbelly of the castle, endless shifting motion as parts spun and pumped rapidly, steam billowing out over the sides in increasingly heavy clouds. The sound was indescribable – all of the warships in the royal hangar started up at once and echoing endlessly. He nearly lost his footing, and then had to dive out of the way as one of the legs thumped down beside him, flattening the earth where he would have fallen. As he rolled back to his feet, he caught sight of an anomaly in the metal plates and piping that made up the castles exterior; on one side, almost hidden from sight, was a small rickety set of steps leading, inexplicably, to a wooden porch and painted door. The staircase hung down just behind one of the legs, bottom step brushing particularly tall tufts of grass aside as the castle moved. 

His breath was harsh in his chest as he began to push into his reserves. Putting on an extra burst of speed, he passed the back legs and came even with the stairs. They wobbled and swung with the motion of the castle, somehow managing to cling to the castle itself despite the vigorous shaking they received.

Arthur reached up, fingertips hitting the railing. The castle put on a burst of speed. “Oh… come… on…. Just…. Stop!” he panted.

Suddenly, Arthur was running past the stairs, skidding in the grass as he came to a stop. The dust and debris raised by the castle’s race across the Wastes was thrown out ahead as it came to an abrupt halt with a series of worrying bangs and creaking, and a single muffled shriek from somewhere inside. It settled with clicks and groans, legs bending as it lowered to the ground with one last solitary plume of smoke, leaving it hovering over Arthur, disturbingly silent and still.

Arthur evened his breathing as he climbed the rickety stairs up onto the impractical little stoop and knocked on the door. He hadn’t quite allowed himself to think of what he might be getting into. Not because he was afraid he’d lose his nerve. Not at all. Despite his complete lack of fear in the face of the Wizard’s castle, he stepped back as the door was opened, arms coming up to defend himself. Then, he gaped. The slightly out of breath young woman with a white nightdress that caught the evening breeze, and brown curls left down for the night? Not what he was not expecting. 

Her dark eyes were wide, plum lips open as she looked out into the night. “Hello?” she called out, looking through Arthur out over the Waste. Her brow furrowed and she shifted, looking around the corner of the doorframe and down the stairs, as if to find children playing a prank. Arthur wanted to try to squeeze past her into the castle, but she was holding the door only slightly ajar, glaring through him suspiciously.

“Aren’t you going to let him in?” a deep voice asked from… inside? It almost seemed to come from under the castle, that rough amused voice. Which was silly, because Arthur had _been_ under the castle in the chase, and he would have noticed another person.

“There’s no one here, Kilgharrah, you old fraud,” the girl replied. She turned back into the castle. Luckily for Arthur, she also didn’t shut the door right away, instead crossing her arms to glare at the other side of the room. Arthur took the chance to slip in behind her and slide past her, his back against the railing until he was up the narrow stairs that led into the castle. He was distracted momentarily by the _sword_ the girl held in one hand. Lucky he hadn’t tried to push past her; he thought dizzily of being left invisible and inaudible and dying alone in the Wastes.

Arthur got out of the way as the girl wrapped her robe more tightly around middle and climbed the stairs past him, putting the sword away behind the railing. He turned and looked around the surprisingly homey room. Wait… this was the inside of Wizard Merlin’s frankly terrifying castle? There was a rough wood table to Arthur’s left, a large hearth to his right. Cabinets and chests lined the walls, a worktable was filled with jars and vials and pouches Arthur couldn’t identify. The room was lit with lamps overhead as well as the fireplace along the wall. Light also shone in from the windows… where the sky was clear and showing a full moon, despite the clouds just outside in the Wastes. Sorcery, Arthur reminded himself.

The girl moved past Arthur to kneel and pick up a pile of cutlery that was strewn across the floor. “You’ve just made more work for yourself. I’m going to need you to heat up more water, so I can re-wash all of these, thanks to that sudden stop.”

There was a deep chuckle and Arthur remembered the other voice in the room. He turned around to look again, but there was no one. Only a pair of closed wooden doors and a staircase up to a small, empty landing. Under the staircase was a corner with comfortable cushions and books, but that, too, was abandoned. “The stop was necessary, Gwen,” the voice – Kilgharrah, she’d called him – replied. “We had to pick up a passenger.”

The young woman propped her hands on her hips, facing off towards the hearth where a fire did burn cheerfully, but no person seemed to stand. It appeared to Arthur that only he and the woman were in the room, and Arthur felt a shiver of fear before realizing that he was, himself, invisible. Is this what Morgana has been up to, he thought aghast. Has she been filling the world with invisible people? How many poor souls had been left to this fate? And why did _this_ one get to speak, anyway; that would be much more convenient. 

“I _told you_ ,” Gwen replied in the slow voice used for explanations when you want them to know you think they’re not very bright. “There was no one out th–” Arthur had been so distracted by his musings on the previously unknown injustices of the invisible world that he didn’t notice Gwen turning from the hearth until she had crashed into him. They stared at each other – well, Arthur stared at her while her gaze flitted desperately through seemingly empty space until – 

Gwen leapt for the sword by the door and Arthur had time to think that Gaius had obviously seriously miscalculated this whole venture, before his life took – another – turn for the worse.


	5. in which Arthur acts like a prat but gets invited to stay regardless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about you; you forgot about you. How embarrassing! Here, have a nearly-late chapter and forget all about it.

Arthur had managed to dodge another of Gwen’s swings. She had no idea where he was, but was methodical in her search, which would be less concerning if she hadn’t been conducting it with the business end of a sword. Kilgharrah was shouting at Gwen to stop, and suddenly the fire rose three feet from the hearth, distracting Arthur enough that Gwen’s next swing sliced the front of his jacket. Arthur was forced to grab the container of newly collected cutlery and toss the lot at her to keep her from getting closer. He winced as one of the forks stabbed her in the arm, making her shout and drop the sword. He felt bad for a full five seconds, before she grabbed a pot from the table and brained him solidly in the side of the head. He dropped like a stone. She was still swinging somewhere above him, and Arthur realized, fuzzily, that a tactical retreat was the best plan of action. Crawling under the table, Arthur escaped to the corner of the room as Gwen continued her attack. He had just found a hiding place when, over the shouting and the roaring of the fire, he heard a series of whirling clicks. 

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened, and a man walked inside, only the top of his dark-haired head visible. The room froze. He watched his feet as he climbed the stairs, and when he looked up, one foot on the top step, he froze. Taking in the roaring fire, Gwen holding the pot aloft, over to Arthur where he crouched on top of the counter, the corner of his mouth twitched. Arthur gaped at him. It was the stranger who had saved him from Morgana’s sorcerers in the city. What was he – how?

No one had moved from their places in the tableau as he looked them over. Finally that small twitch grew into a full smile. “Now, everyone,” he said into the silence. “You’re supposed to save the fun until I’m home.”

“You again? What kind of sick joke from the gods is it that can only you see me?” Arthur demanded. 

“Rude.” He looked over at Arthur, offended.

“Merlin,” Gwen said, moving to stand in front of him, facing the room with pot held aloft. “There’s something in here.”

“ _Merlin_?” Arthur gasped. Arthur straightened, hitting his head off the cupboard shelf above him. Cursing, he jumped down from the countertop. “ _You’re_ the Wizard Merlin?” Merlin bowed at him sarcastically. 

“Merlin, what _is_ it?” Gwen asked, not relinquishing her hold on the pot. Arthur eyed it warily. 

“I _told her_ , young warlock! I told her there was a guest.”

“Yes, I see that, Kilgharrah,” Merlin said. 

“How are _you_ the Wizard Merlin?” Arthur asked, incredulous.

Gwen turned to the hearth and argued: “A ghost you let in from the Wastes doesn’t, in any way, count as a _guest_.”

“It’s not a ghost –” Kilgharrah began, but Gwen was quite done with listening to him.

“He stopped the house without even a moment’s courtesy, Merlin. A half hour of housework wasted, I don’t even want to _think_ about what happened to the bedrooms, _and_ I nearly brained myself on the table.”

“You threw me off a balcony!” Arthur said. 

“I was trying to help- are you all right?” Merlin interrupted himself to ask Gwen as she rubbed her head.

“I’m fine, but you need to talk to him, Merlin. He’s getting worse,” she said pointing at the fireplace, while Kilgharrah’s voice intoned about great destinies finally coming to fruition in times of need, and Arthur waved his hands in the air. 

“If you could take a moment from your domestic to pay attention to my _actual, pressing issues_ ,” Arthur complained over Kilgharrah’s continuing rant and Gwen’s list of the legitimately absurd things Kilgharrah had apparently been doing.

“How did you even get in here?” Merlin asked him. He regretted it instantly: all three of the launched into loud, conflicting stories of Arthur’s arrival until finally –

“Enough!” Merlin said firmly. He held his hands out to the sides, fingers splayed. There was a burst of coloured sparks of light that shot from the wizard to the corners of the room, and the evening light from the window dimmed away as if a heavy curtain had been drawn. The sparks danced in the corners, filling the room with green and pink and blue flashes until they faded away. Arthur blinked at the afterimages in the dark room. After a moment, the light slowly filtered back through the window, until the room was as it stood before, except in silence.

“Kilgharrah,” Merlin said first, “you have to give Gwen warning when you’re stopping the castle. You could have hurt her. And we’ve spoken about this destiny business, and I _don’t want you to talk about it again_.” There was a note of iron in his tone. The fire in the grate shrank down to a sulky set of coals. “Gwen,” he said, much more kindly. “We don’t have a ghost. It’s just an invisibility spell.”

“Are you sure?” Her gaze searched fruitlessly around the room. “Those’re not exactly common.”

The Wizard shot her an amused glance. “Fairly sure,” he replied dryly. 

Gwen blushed, but smiled gamely. “Don’t pretend you know _everything_ about magic, Merlin.”

“Oh, well, no. No, not _everything_.”

Arthur rubbed a hand over his clammy forehead. Now that the excitement was dying down, his headache was making itself known with interest. Distracted and crotchety with nausea, he snapped: “I’m still here.” 

Merlin turned and looked at him and Arthur swallowed nervously. How it hadn’t occurred to him until he was already looking into his eyes that this was _the Wizard Merlin_ , he wasn’t sure, but as soon as he had his full attention, Arthur wished it would turn elsewhere. Yes, he had rescued Arthur from Morgana’s minions, but the stories of him had to come from somewhere and all of them, from court bard’s songs to peasant fairy tales cast him as the villain, the monster that came from the dark. Who knew how sorcerers and their ilk thought? And it wasn’t like Merlin was a _regular_ sorcerer. As bad as they were, the Wizard Merlin was worse. They said he had more dark powers than any other two sorcerers combined. They said he got that power from sacrificing enemies and innocents alike and consuming their hearts. The rumours surrounding him were bloody enough to make Arthur’s most seasoned knights wary of even patrolling the Wastes when his castle was in sight, and Arthur was fairly sure he would lose half to fright if he had ever thought attacking was an option. Suddenly, the plan to go to _him_ for help seemed like the worst type of folly. He was handing Camelot’s king over to a stranger who had every reason to hate him.

“And you,” the Wizard said after a long moment. “What is that you have on your arm?”

Arthur looked down, suddenly aware of the bracelet he was wearing. The bracelet Agravaine had given him before his meeting with Morgana. “I keep forgetting about it,” he answered absently. He looked up in time to see the Wizard’s gaze sharpen. 

“Take it off,” he ordered. “And put it on the table.”

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but his moment’s hesitation gave doubt time to wiggle into his brain and override his knee-jerk rejection of following orders. Instead, he set his jaw and obeyed. Merely a demonstration of power, Agravaine had said, and Arthur had believed him. That was before Arthur learned that everyone he trusted was wary of his uncle, before Agravaine called off his knights’ search, and before the bracelet had managed to make him forget about it while it was still on his wrist. He didn’t want it to be true. Agravaine was his uncle. He fumbled with the clasp. Gwen gasped and focused on it as soon as Arthur dropped it to the table; it must have become visible away from him. Merlin gently pulled her hand away when she reached for it. 

“Don’t,” he said softly. “It’s cursed.” 

Arthur set his jaw and refused to argue. With it off, Arthur could feel strength returning that he hadn’t even noticed being sapped; already, his throbbing headache was easing, nausea settled, and a bone-deep weariness and aches were fading from his muscles. 

Perhaps he is tricking you, he thought, trying to be wary. Perhaps this is Wizard Merlin’s doing, somehow. 

Part of him wanted to believe it, but watching as Merlin leaned close and poked at the amelet with a fork picked up from the cutlery pile, he couldn’t find it in himself to defend Agravaine any longer.

“The Witch of the Wastes gave this to you?” Merlin asked.

“My uncle,” Arthur corrected him.

Merlin looked up, surprise settling after a moment into uncomfortable sympathy. “The magic is hers.” 

“What does it do?” Arthur asked curtly, not wanting a sorcerer’s pity. 

Merlin straightened, his sympathetic expression falling away, and then turned to fetch a plain wooden box from beneath a work bench on the far wall. Scooting the bracelet into it without touching it, he said, “Nasty work. It drains the life of whoever wears it, storing the energy inside the gem at the center. It would have killed you within a day.”

Arthur’s fears of being left in the Wastes to die, without being able to call or signal for help returned to him, and he realized just what Morgana had planned. It hadn’t mattered if her sorcerers had caught him as he fled the castle; she had never intended for him to survive. The depths of betrayal from the last of his family – both of them, at once – had to be set aside. He was in enemy territory. He couldn’t deal with that here. 

Gwen had covered her mouth with one hand at his description of the curse’s effect, and now drew it away to say, “Put it away, please, Merlin.” Merlin, who had been leaning over the box he held to examine it closely, closed the lid with a click. “Will he be all right?” Gwen asked, looking around the room, clearly still unable to see Arthur.

“Why am I still invisible?” he asked.

“That’s a different curse entirely,” Merlin said, shrugging carelessly as he set the box carefully in a cabinet and locked the door. He squinted at Arthur. “And a messy one, too.”

“Well, break it,” Arthur demanded, emotionally spent and already exhausted with the thought of everything he now had to do in the face of this attack on him, on his Kingdom. He braced himself for a response as the Wizard turned back to him.

But Merlin’s voice was mild as he said, “Whatever you’ve done to get on the bad side of the Witch of the Waste is none of my business. I’m not going to get involved by helping you.”

“Merlin,” Gwen reproached.

“Young warlock –” Kilgharrah protested at the same time.

There was little else that could cure Arthur from a momentary fright faster than being _dismissed._ “I didn’t come all the way out here to find a coward,” Arthur argued. Merlin’s posture stiffened, and his expression set. “I get that you’re scared of Morgana, but I don’t have time to coddle you. Break the curse so I can get back to my life.”

“You’re bossy for someone asking for _help_ ,” he said sharply.

“I’ve been cursed. _Twice_. I’m invisible. I’ve been chased around the city and thrown off a balcony; thank _you_ for that. I had to walk through the Wastes for hours because you were idiotic enough to want to live in a stupid, _moving_ castle. It’s been a long day. You’re the only damn sorcerer I know. I need your help, and I’m not leaving until I get it.”

The wizard pressed his lips together and then turned away sharply. “Kilgharrah, take us to the edge of the Wastes. Gwen, you’ll show our guest out, please.” 

Gwen’s eyebrows were drawn in confusion as she watched the Wizard walk towards the staircase. “I nearly stabbed him, he’s under a spell, you can’t just –” The door shut firmly behind him. “– kick him out.”

“Obviously he can, and will,” Kilgharrah said.

“This is your fault somehow,” Gwen muttered darkly towards the hearth. 

“Young mortal, just because I know things Merlin does not wish to acknowledge –”

“Please,” she said plaintively. “Don’t start again, Kilgharrah. Please.”

He sighed with a plume of smoke emerging from the grate. “As you wish. We do still have the matter of our invisible guest to deal with, after all.” 

Gwen searched the room until Arthur took pity on her and shifted a bowl on the table. Her gaze snapped to it, and then up to a pretty good guess of his eye level (he ducked a bit). She suddenly looked embarrassed. “I am so sorry about the sword, and the yelling, and the… the pot. I hope it didn’t hit anything important. Not that all of you isn’t important, because I’m so sure it is.” Her cheeks were bright red as she fluttered her hands in his direction. “Um, move the bowl if I’m forgiven, throw it if I’m not?” Arthur shifted the bowl. “Oh, good. Not that I thought you’d throw it at me. You seem like a gentleman. Lady? No, man; Kilgharrah said. Gentle…man.” She shook her head. “We need a better way to communicate, because if it’s left to me, I ramble. Obviously.” 

“No time for that,” Kilgharrah said. His tone was too unconcerned for someone who had been arguing for Arthur to stay as a guest only moments before. “Merlin told you to kick him out. We are close enough to the edge of the Wastes that I’m sure he won’t be killed trying to find shelter.” The door opened, the deep black of night in the Wastes waiting outside.

“Stop it, Kilgharrah,” Gwen whispered angrily. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to manipulate me, but I tried to stab this poor invisible man: I am not shooing him out into the night.” She turned back to the room with a smile. “We’ll come up with something tomorrow. I’m not leaving you in the Wastes, no matter how close to the edge Kilgharrah brings us.” With a last glare at the hearth, she looked around the room, settling on the curtained corner. She shifted books until she had cleared off a comfortable looking reading chair. “You can sleep here. There’s a blanket… oh, here it is.” A pile of books slid to the floor. “Oops. We can come up with something in the morning. Pull the curtain closed and Merlin won’t even notice you. I’m sure he’ll help you tomorrow. He’s not as bad as he seems, honestly.” Gwen trailed off and then, waving awkwardly at the empty room, climbed the stairs and disappeared from view. 

Arthur was left alone. The soft yellow light filling the room started to fade away, and Arthur looked around, confused. It took him a moment to think of looking up, where he could see small floating flameless lanterns, slowly dimming until they were yellow specks the size of fireflies. Along the workbench, a few of the bubbling vials glowed faintly, one pulsing with purple light. The castle wheezed and moaned, settling under his feet and there was a high-pitched mechanical whine from somewhere inside the castle. It would all take getting used to.

 _Not_ that Arthur intended to stay that long. He would convince this Wizard to fix him in the morning, and then he would be back to Camelot, where he was needed. He settled into the chair, pulling the blanket up around his chin firmly. The Wizard Merlin obviously didn’t know who he was so casually dismissing. If he wanted Arthur out of his life, he would have to help him first.


	6. in which Arthur has some illuminating conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is from the lovely Kasia, again. She has also posted a related work where she has all of the art she's doing for this story together, so please click on the link and leave her some kudos and a comment! Awesome stuff!

Arthur had barely dozed off, the weight of the day and his chase through the Wastes weighing him down into sleep, when he startled awake with a jolt he felt from his chest down through his toes. He stood warily, pulling the curtain aside to peer out into the rest of the room. Lit only by the dim flickering yellow light, it was made even stranger by the depth of the shadows. 

There was another loud crack. He jumped before he placed the sound; it was just the logs burning down that had woken him. Arthur settled slightly before remembering that even the night fire was something to be wary of in Wizard Merlin’s castle. 

“I know you’re awake,” Kilgharrah said, quiet in the darkness.

Arthur fought a shiver, still unnerved by the bodiless voice. He overcompensated, confrontational when he said, “Only because you woke me up on purpose.”

There was a chuckle accompanied by a plume of smoke, illuminated in the lanterns’ light as it rolled across the ceiling. “Come, young Pendragon. It’s time we had a talk.” Arthur jumped at the address. They hadn’t cared to ask in the chaos of his arrival, so Arthur had been sure they didn’t know who they had in their castle. He had known to keep it a secret; he didn’t trust the Wizard or Gwen and had been hoping they never learned who they had within their power. Now, with his identity known, Arthur felt acutely unsafe. He walked to the table and dragged a chair only slightly closer to the hearth, out of any flames’ reach. “Don’t be concerned,” Kilgharrah said. “I have no intention of causing you harm. Nor does Merlin. You are important, Arthur Pendragon: to more than just Camelot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would tell you if I could,” Kilgharrah replied tersely, “but Merlin has forbidden me to speak of it. You heard him give the order.”

Arthur thought back, sure he hadn’t heard anything about the fire not being allowed to talk to him, but– “He said there was to be no more talk of destinies,” Arthur corrected.

“Yes, exactly. There are many great destinies in the tapestry of the world, seldom any as important as the one tying you and Merlin together.” 

“Together, how?” Arthur asked, bracing his elbows on his thighs to lean forward.

“That I cannot tell you.”

Arthur huffed out his held breath, and slouched back in his chair. “That’s helpful.”

“Merlin has given me an order,” Kilgharrah replied, tone as flippant as the single round cloud of smoke that puffed to the ceiling.

Arthur sighed. He’d had ministers and courtiers and nobles at his heels every moment since his father had fallen ill. He knew well when he was being manipulated. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stay here, in the castle.”

Arthur hadn’t planned on leaving with no other options, but there were lessons his father had taught him young, and one was to never reveal a position of weakness. “The Wizard Merlin kicked me out,” he said, instead, forcing a coolness into his tone. “I’m only here until morning.”

“He won’t confront you; Merlin ignores what he doesn’t want to face. And Guinevere feels badly about beating you up.” Arthur opened his mouth to argue that but Kilgharrah continued over him. “Stay. Learn of your destiny, and Merlin’s part in it.”

Arthur threw up his hands. Forcing the Wizard Merlin to break the curse on him was one thing. Deliberately sticking around while his kingdom suffered was quite another. “I don’t have time for destinies! My kingdom needs me. I came here to ask the Wizard to break the curse, not to play a game of riddles with his fireplace.” Arthur rose, taking a step away from the hearth, his exhale harsh with frustration. 

“Find out Merlin’s secret, and the curse upon you will be broken,” Kilgharrah said. Arthur paused, listening despite himself. “There is no one else. The Witch of the Waste is too powerful, and too experienced with curses for them to be broken lightly.”

“But you can break it?” Arthur turned back to look at the fire. It flickered. 

“I could.”

Arthur considered this. “What are you? Some kind of fire demon?”

Kilgharrah chuckled. “I am a servant of Merlin’s, and of Albion.”

“And, evidently, my only choice,” Arthur replied dryly.

“Destinies are troublesome things.”

“You’ll have to be more helpful than that,” Arthur ordered.

“Merlin knows what you need to know, but he won’t tell you if you ask outright. Learn what he is hiding – and hiding _from_ – and the curse will be broken.”

Arthur considered, instincts and his father’s memory warring against what he was about to do. He didn’t want to enter any kind of agreement with something so obviously magical, but something about Merlin gave him pause. There had been a mulish stubbornness to the way he defied Arthur, and he rather thought that any attempt to force Merlin to help would just get Arthur further away from a cure. But despite his reputation, it had been here Gaius had sent him, and not to some other sorcerer. Besides, Arthur wouldn’t know the first place to start if he left Merlin’s moving castle to seek out another sorcerer to help him… or what he would find if he did. 

He had no real choice. “It’s a deal,” he said cautiously.

The flames grew with a sudden burst of hot air. Arthur stepped back from the heat, startled, but the burst of light drew his attention to the small black grate at the back of the hearth, as soot-blackened as the stones it was nestled in. “Then a bargain has been made, Arthur Pendragon,” Kilgharrah said from that grate.

Arthur retreated back to his corner, drawing the curtain shut and the blanket up around his shoulders. He wanted to worry on the conversation and turn of events, but sleep snuck up on him and he fell unwillingly into his dreams.

When Arthur next stirred, the corner he slept in was bright with daylight over the curtain’s rod, and beneath the fabric. The smell and sound of breakfast cooking filled the room, and his stomach growled loudly. He rolled his neck and arched his back, cracking back into some resemblance of order after a heavy sleep in an uncomfortable position before he drew the curtain aside and stepped into the room. 

Gwen turned at the slide of the curtain and smiled at the empty space where Arthur stood. “Breakfast,” she said, holding up a pan, bacon sizzling temptingly. 

Arthur hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but she was off towards the counter, holding the cloth-wrapped handle of the pan with both hands. “I dug out a slate and chalk,” she said, setting the pan on a mat on the wooden table, nudging aside a plate of sliced bread. 

Arthur grabbed up the slate and wrote a quick thank you, turning it so she could read it. She shook her head and smiled. “That is so unnerving,” she admitted, “even after all my time here.” She gestured around the room, at the bubbling coloured vials on the counter, the flameless lanterns on the ceiling, the talking fire. “Here, eat up.”

The door above them hit the far wall and bounced as Merlin emerged from the rooms beyond. Arthur stood from the table quickly, where his back had been to the Wizard, putting the table between them. Taking the stairs too quickly and nearly tripping down, Merlin skid to an ungraceful stop when he saw Arthur. He shot Gwen a betrayed look. 

“The Wastes in the middle of the night, Merlin?” she asked. “You thought that was going to happen?”

Merlin’s face contorted comically as he fought back whatever he was going to say, reconsidered, and then finally huffed. He grabbed a coat on the way down the stairs. With a whirl, the coloured dial nailed to the wall spun and Merlin opened the door, revealing an overcast cobbled street. A horse-drawn carriage rumbled past with a dark-cloaked driver as Merlin walked out, and closed the door firmly behind him.

Arthur looked from the door to the window, where sunlight poured through. He moved closer, expecting to see the street, or the Wastes, perhaps, and was shocked by the view of a different, sunny street, this one lined with trees and shops. 

‘Where are we really?’ he wrote on his slate, pushing it towards Gwen.

She grinned, delighted and chagrined at once. “Oh, you’ll want to eat while I go over that,” she said. “That’s one complicated question.”

They ate their breakfast, and Gwen was still trying to explain the castle’s magic as she cleaned their plates away. Arthur ran his fingers through his hair as he failed to keep up. He was aware that magic as a whole was a topic he was woefully uneducated in, since it had been illegal for the entirety of his life and the only time he came in contact with it was when it was trying to kill him. There was something so _unnatural_ , though, about a castle that not only moved physically through the Wastes, but was in more than one _other_ place, at the _same time_. He realized for the first time that there must be levels of skill in magic, and wondered where something like this would measure. 

‘Purple is Essetir, white is Nemeth, and green is the Wastes,’ he wrote. ‘And black?’ 

“Private,” she shrugged. “He’s never said.” There was a knocking on the door that made Arthur jump, thankfully unseen by Gwen, though Kilgharrah snorted softly. Arthur shot the fire a glare as Gwen wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the door. The dial swung to white as she opened it, revealing the street outside the window. 

A young couple stepped inside nervously, looking around the shop as they clutched hands. He was holding a wailing baby. The young woman spoke in a soft voice. “We were told Dragoon had a potion for baby’s colic?” she asked. 

“He can help you with that,” Gwen replied. She climbed the stairs, moving to the shelves of coloured vials and searching through them, thin fingers twisting the glass bottles to read the tiny hand-written labels. The couple huddled together, looking around wide-eyed. “Here we are,” Gwen said. She opened the small yellow bottle as she walked over to them. “Just a drop three times a day when she cries, one more at night to help her sleep. Here, try it now.” She passed the bottle to the mother, and watched as she placed a drop in her baby’s screaming mouth. The baby hiccupped, and then blinked up at them.

“There’s a good girl,” Gwen cooed. She was thanked profusely, the parents clearly on very little sleep and worn nerves. Gwen accepted a small pouch from the mother before she shooed them back outside. “Remember, no more than four times a day!”

Climbing the stairs, she opened the pouch and pulled out two copper pennies, dropping them into a jar on the counter. The jar was nearly full, and yet they sat amongst very little silver.

Arthur held up his slate. ‘Who is Dragoon?’

“Oh, that’s –” There was another knock, cutting Gwen off. She waved apologetically at Arthur’s slate as she turned back to the door. The dial switched to purple, and it opened up to the rainy street Merlin had walked out onto. Gwen ushered in an old man, who flipped the dripping hood off his head gratefully. “Farlon, I wasn’t expecting you this soon. Have the wyverns –”

“Emrys came to us, just as you said he would,” Farlon said, smiling widely. “We didn’t even see him, but one minute those beasties were swooping overhead and the next, they were gone.”

“I’m so glad,” Gwen replied warmly.

“I just wish I had more to give him in return. He saved the lot of us.” He passed over a bulging sack.

Arthur’s eyebrows rose. If that was full of payment for this ‘Emrys’, it was no small amount.

Gwen assured him that it was more than enough, and the door closed again, leaving them alone. She climbed the stairs, setting the bag on the table. Arthur edged closer to see what was within, and stepped back confused when she pulled a pair of rabbits out by their ears. “Soup tonight, Kilgharrah,” she announced. The fire grumbled darkly. She set aside the rabbits and pulled out a handful of young carrots. 

“Dragoon, and Emrys; it’s Merlin,” she said. “People don’t want to accept help from the Wizard Merlin, though. They hear the stories and are too afraid to go anywhere near his castle, so he…” she trailed off, looking down at the assorted vegetables for a long moment before she began to chop. 

In the silence, Arthur began to get a niggling thought in the way much of his strategic breakthroughs came to him. Wandering the worktable at the edge of the room, he read some of the labels; cough syrups, fever reducers, and soothing balms. All these were things Arthur had seen in Gaius’s chambers, many times. In fact, he realized, other than a few locked cabinets Arthur tried when Gwen was distracted with a pot of boiling water, and some alarming glowing vials, it didn’t look like much magic was going on at all. He looked at the rabbits on the counter at the jar of pennies on the shelf. What kind of _actual_ sorcerer would do work for so little reward? Everyone knew that magic corrupted the user, made them greedy and selfish, power-hungry and destructive. No sorcerer who _could_ do magic could stop themselves from destroying with it.

But what proof did Arthur have that Merlin _could_ do magic? he wondered suddenly. The castle, of course, but if Kilgharrah was a magical creature, that could be his power. He had fought off Morgana’s sorcerers, but he had run away rather than defeat them, hadn’t he? Some lights, some sparks, none of this was the makings of a great sorcerer Arthur had been told to fear. All he really had were the rumours. The rumours, Arthur realized, that had all the Five Kingdoms so afraid that Merlin could wander the Wastes without fear that any of them would attack, or try to bring him to justice. Arthur was torn between being insulted at the con, and half-laughing, impressed. No wonder he did work helping people for pennies. He couldn’t do anything more. It made sense, then, that his home and companion were bright and cheerful, or that Merlin had seemed like he could be kind; he had no real magic to corrupt them.

At some point, without Arthur noticing, the view outside the window had changed to Mercia’s dreary streets. He watched the rain pattered and dripped down the window as Gwen began preparing the rabbits, becoming increasingly sure that all the signs must be pointing to a weak sorcerer. But then he narrowed his eyes in thought; Gaius had sent Arthur here to have the curse broken... Arthur looked over at the hearth. It must be Kilgharrah, after all.

With his fear of Merlin gone, Arthur kept an eye on the door, waiting for _the Wizard’s_ return. He would get what Kilgharrah wanted and then Arthur would get home, back to deal with Morgana and Agravaine’s betrayals. He set his shoulders. Now that he had a proper handle on the situation, things were finally beginning to look up.


	7. which is full of passive-aggressive plumbing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! If you haven't yet, check out the related work! Kasia has posted a masterpost of the artwork she's doing for this story, so go and comment and love it. <3

Gwen left the castle shortly after, with a warning to ignore everything Kilgharrah said. It didn’t make Arthur feel any better about the deal he’d made with the fire the night before. Though Kilgharrah seemed content to leave him be and, except for a few unintelligible mutterings, was quiet. He spent the first five minutes poking around the room, careful not to touch anything that looked _too_ magical. Within twenty, he was bored out of his mind. 

When Merlin returned that evening, Arthur was poking through the books in his sleeping corner, looking for _anything_ of interest. He heard the door whirl and open, and watched as Merlin walked up the stairs and froze at the sight of him.

“You’re still here,” Merlin huffed, sounding insultingly put-upon.

“Great observational skills for the great wizard,” Arthur replied.

“I’m not –” Merlin stopped himself, and Arthur felt vindicated in his deduction from earlier. He relaxed even more, turning his back on the room as he continued to toss the books he was disinterested in into a pile. Arthur had never been much of a reader; the pile was growing. “I’m not going to get rid of you easily, am I?”

The fire puffed happily. “Nope,” Arthur answered with a smug look over his shoulder. “Ready to break the curse yet?”

Obviously not; Merlin stormed up the stairs, muttering insulting suggestions that Arthur was almost certain were impossible to carry out, even _with_ magic.

“Good start,” Kilgharrah said, sarcasm dripping.

It didn’t get any better over the next few days. He tried to corner Merlin into a conversation (which would invariably turn into an argument) every time he saw the wizard, but Merlin was unsurprisingly difficult to pin down. When they weren’t fighting, Arthur was exclusively ignored by Merlin, who he saw only as he walked from the upstairs door out of the castle in the mornings, when he returned in the late afternoon, and at meals, which were full of angry mutterings, pointed violence with utensils, and Gwen’s decreasing attempts at polite conversation. 

Gwen was apparently in charge of all the customers, for all that they came to the castle looking for Merlin’s aliases. Merlin was present only once when a customer arrived. The man had paled so dramatically on seeing Merlin that Arthur had stepped forward, ready to catch him before he toppled backwards down the stairs in a faint. His hand had shook when Gwen handed him his potion, and he had _run_ from the room. Arthur had turned back to snipe at Merlin, but the wizard hadn’t met his gaze, eyes fixed on the door behind him. There was a twist to the set of his mouth, a shade drawn over his eyes, that Arthur hadn’t been able to ignore enough to insult him. Grabbing his long coat from the chair beside him, Merlin swept down the stairs. The colour dial turned to black, and he flung open the door and disappeared into darkness, a heavy veil over the location of the door that Arthur’s gaze couldn’t pierce.

Merlin avoided the castle after that, mostly.

The days _dragged_. Gwen was always up for questions or conversation, but writing on the slate was tediously slow, and she had customers to attend to, errands out of the castle to run, and a beau in the city she would often dress in her finest to visit before disappearing through the Waste’s door for hours. She was Arthur’s only distraction from his worry about what was happening back in Camelot. No one knew where he was, and Agravaine’s betrayal burned in the pit of his stomach and back of his throat whenever he thought on it. With Arthur away from the castle, his uncle was acting regent and had authority over the city, the army, and the council. Arthur knew his knights would stand against him if he acted outright against Camelot, or Arthur, but the possibilities of other trouble he could bring upon them rattled around Arthur’s brain in the long hours he had to himself.

In addition to his frustration and worry, there was this ongoing, shrill whining somewhere in the depths of the machinery of the castle which was now surely driving him _mad_.

Sitting at the table one morning almost a week into his stay, he tapped his fingertips against the wood as he tried – and ultimately failed – to ignore it. He finally rose and began hunting about, ear to the walls, on either side of the wooden cabinets and bookshelves, around the corner, under the staircase. A wide berth around Kilgharrah’s great stone hearth until he reached the double sink where the noise was the loudest. Opening the wide cupboard doors underneath, Arthur knelt on the worn wooden floor and peered inside, moving a stack of rags, potion bottles full of startlingly bright liquids, and a small case of wrenches, grips and plyers until he could reach the piping at the back.

There wasn’t really a back to the cupboard, he realized. It led directly into the outside mechanisms of the castle itself, and if the entire castle looked like this, Arthur was considering making a run for it and trying his luck with another witch or wizard, because it was obvious that the castle was a fly’s sneeze away from collapsing around his ears.

There was a heavy coating of soot and oil on everything, and the pipes and gears wound around themselves in abstract, nonsensical patterns. Arthur followed a line of piping in a double figure eight before he realized that it wasn’t attached to any other part of the castle. A gear floating in empty space twirled about uselessly. There seemed to be a large section of wiring that’s only function was to wind around piping, holding it haphazardly in place. The whining was obviously louder from inside the cupboard, but Arthur couldn’t see its source in all the mess. He made himself more comfortable and got to work. 

Beginning by pulling out anything that was obviously useless, he soon had a small pile by his knee and he could finally see the problem: there was a leather belt spinning on three gears, powering something hidden from Arthur’s view. Something was pushing against it, causing the high-pitched noise that had offended Arthur so badly… but he couldn’t quite see what it was.

There was a whirling click from behind him which he ignored, intent on reaching the belt and whatever it was that was causing its problems. He reached back to grab a tool from behind him, pausing when his hand closed over something he couldn’t identify. Pulling himself out of the cupboard, he jumped, hitting his head off the sink with a solid bang when he saw the shoe he’d grabbed was, of course, attached to the leg of someone lurking over him. Rubbing the stinging spot on his head, he looked up at Merlin, who was leaning obnoxiously over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” he snapped.

Merlin looked down at him incredulously. “What am _I_ doing? What are you doing to my castle?”

“Fixing it.”

“It’s not broken!”

“What is this?”

Merlin examined the piece of pipe Arthur held up. “Important, probably, and you’ve pulled it out!”

“It didn’t do anything! This whole section was just wrapped around itself in a circle six times.”

“Where did you even get the tools for this?”

“Under here.”

“Really?”

Merlin looked so honestly confounded that Arthur supposed it was Gwen doing the maintenance that _was_ getting done… which made him feel better, actually. But still, “You just cobbled everything together and hoped for the best, didn’t you? It’s lucky this death trap hasn’t killed you all.”

Merlin sulked, turning away to fall into the chair Arthur had left before the hearth, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching. Arthur went back to extricating the pieces from the castle. After a few moment, there was the shuffle of Merlin’s chair closing in on him. “What are you fixing?” he asked over Arthur’s shoulder.

“This will stop that incessant squealing whine.”

“I like that whine.”

“You _do not_.”

“It gives the castle character!”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Hey! Whose castle is this?”

“I wouldn’t be too proud of it, considering the ongoing annoying noises and haphazard – at best –construction.” 

“It’s a _moving castle_. Your standards are a little high.”

“Those ‘ongoing annoying noises’ now include you.” Arthur ignored Merlin’s huffing and perfectly audible mumbled insults as he extended his arm and finally got a clear look at the belt that was causing all the trouble. Lodged against the belt was a… it was a boot. 

He pulled it out and turned, holding it up for Merlin’s examination.

“Oh,” he said, looking suitable chastened for only a moment before his expression brightened. “I was actually looking for that!”

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur informed him, throwing the boot at him. He ignored Merlin’s flailing as he caught it, and turned back to the wall, searching for any other loose parts. Except for Merlin insulting Arthur to Kilgharrah, the castle was at least quieter than before. He poked around a bit, but everything else looked – at least acceptably – in place. Turning back to the room, he started putting the tools away, and glanced up to see that Merlin was watching him closely, head tilted as he observed him.

“How do you know how to do all this?” he asked.

“I’ve been on warships,” Arthur replied. “Everyone pulls their weight, especially on the long patrols.” He braced himself for questions – had Kilgharrah told Merlin who he was? – but instead Merlin just nodded, picking at the knee of his pants.

“Did you know, a moving castle is _not_ a warship?”

Arthur huffed, exasperated. “I couldn’t have made more of a mess in there. It still standing, isn’t it?”

Merlin looked up at the ceiling, holding himself so still that Arthur froze subconsciously. “For now,” he finally whispered dramatically. Arthur huffed out his held breath and flicked a coin-sized metal gear at him, making him yelp when it hit his leg. With a twitch of his fingers, the gear rose spinning to hover by Merlin’s raised hand and then flew at Arthur, hitting him in the arm. It bounced to the floor. Arthur froze at the blatant use of magic, gaze fixed on the small gear. He had forgotten, for a moment, where he was and who he was talking to. He waited for the fear to come and realized it… wasn’t. He _knew_ Merlin was some kind of wizard, after all, so even though magic being used for so mundane and innocent a purpose stuck with him, he brushed it off.

Arthur looked from it to Merlin and shook his head. “That’s cheating.”

Something in Merlin’s expression relaxed. “Because you can’t do it?”

“Everyone knows that magic isn’t allowed.”

“– in the ancient art of bullying, you mean?” Merlin laughed.

“I’m not _bullying_ you, Merlin.” Arthur was interrupted by a knock on the door. He went back to collecting his tools, but noticed Merlin wasn’t moving. “Getting that?” he asked as the knocking came again.

“You get it?”

Arthur stared at him incredulously. “I can’t.” Merlin just looked at him questioningly. Arthur shook his head and glared. “I’m _invisible_!”

“Oh, right.”

“'Oh, _right'_?”

Merlin hurried off, away from Arthur’s anger, but hovered uncertainly at the top of the stairs. Arthur packed the tools away with more force than necessary. When everything was cleared away, Merlin still stood with one foot hovering as if to take a step, hand an inch above the railing. There was silence on the other side of the door.

“Are you afraid of your customers?” Arthur scoffed.

“No.” The hesitation before he spoke, and the guilty way he jumped meant ‘yes’.

“You shouldn’t be. Obviously, any customer you have throughout the five kingdoms is going to be more afraid of you,” Arthur said. He was brushing off the knees of his trousers, and only happened to glance up in time to catch the hurt expression on Merlin’s face. 

Arthur frowned, but the expression cleared away quickly, leaving Merlin’s face impassive as he walked down the stairs. Turning the dial, he called over his shoulder, “Tell Gwen I’ll not be back for supper,” and then he was gone.

“It was going so well,” Kilgharrah said quietly.

“I have absolutely no idea what is going on, and you’re all driving me mad,” Arthur shot back. Despite it being the truth, he still felt guilty. “Gods dammit!” he spat when he realized that in the rush of their conversation and Merlin’s exit, he had lost his chance to badger Merlin into reversing his curse. “I hope you all choke on your secrets,” he said to Kilgharrah as he piled the mechanical junk he’d pulled from the castle into a bin, shoving it into a corner for someone who actually lived there to deal with. 

The dial spun to green, and Gwen walked in, cheeks flushed pink and a smile on her lips, the sunny fields of the Waste behind her. Her skirts blew around her as the open door welcomed her and the wind from the Waste, lavender flowing out from the close-cut cream bodice like flower petals on the warm breeze. She was humming happily as she skipped up the stairs, unpinning her hat from her curls and hanging it on the back of a chair. As she looked around the room, her gaze skipped over Arthur and then back, and she squinted at him. 

“I forgot you were here!” she said.

“Can she see me?” Arthur asked Kilgharrah, and jumped when _Gwen_ jumped. “Can you hear me?” he asked her.

“Yes! Barely, just a whisper, but I can!” She squinted at him again. “You’re like a shadow almost… or, no, a reflection. If I look right at you, you waver.” Arthur was too happy with the new even to find the limited success a let-down. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re almost solid this way! This is good, right? Is the curse wearing off?” She directed the last bit at Kilgharrah.

He grunted repressively. “You handle a lot of the magic here in the castle,” Kilgharrah reminded Gwen. “It’s bound to have an effect on how you see the world. The Witch of the Waste’s curses aren’t made to fade away.”

Arthur felt a surge of disappointment, but Gwen just narrowed her eyes at the hearth. “Downer,” she accused him. “Come on!” Grabbing up her hat again, she beckoned for Arthur to follow and turned the door’s dial. The circle above the door spun to the white wedge with a click. “We’re going to test it out. Open the door when we get back, Kilgharrah!”

They ignored Kilgharrah’s protests and hurried out into the street. The sun beat down on them, making Arthur blink frantically as he kept pace with Gwen. She held her pins in her mouth as she fastened her hat back over her curls one by one, patting it gently when she was done. “Now,” she said with a smile. “Let’s take you out on the town.”

They passed a strolling couple, and Gwen caught their attention, asking for directions. Arthur stepped forward, and waved, but neither of them looked his way, even when he finally called out a greeting. As they continued on their way, Gwen frowned. 

“It was worth a try,” Arthur reassured her. He rolled his shoulders, holding his head back to feel the sun. It had been a long morning without his usual training, and he felt restless.

“They were pretty old. Maybe their sight is just fading on its own.”

Arthur laughed despite his disappointment, and Gwen grinned back at him. “We should definitely make sure,” he agreed. He offered his arm, which Gwen accepted with a nod, and they continued their walk. The streets here were wider than in Camelot, and the storefronts had wide ballooning awnings providing shade from the harsh sun. The streets were less busy, as well, with walkers out on the sides, but few wagons or carriages passing by. Arthur realized after passing a group of staring girls that Gwen must look rather odd, walking seemingly on her own, as if on a man’s arm. 

He said as much, and she just laughed. “They would stare anyway,” she said. “They all know I work for Merlin – well, _Dragoon the Great_.” She rolled her eyes. “They don’t mind getting their potions and cures from us, but being friendly on the street is a little beyond them.” She paused. “That sounded bitter,” she said after a moment. “I don’t blame them, really. The laws against magic have been very strict, for a long time. They all think sorcerers are monsters or worse.”

“You’re not a sorcerer.”

“No, I don’t have any magic at all, but the laws against association are almost as bad. Merlin gets away with being so open about it only because we can literally disappear whenever anyone official gets wind of him. We’ve been in five towns since I started working with him.”

“How _did_ you end up working for Merlin?” Arthur asked, unable to picture it.

Gwen pulled Arthur off the street, through an open gateway in a waist-high stone wall and into a sheltered public garden. Trellises overhead supported climbing vines with bright violet flowers, casting rippling shade over the cobbled path. Flowerbeds and shrubs lined the pathways, and Arthur could hear a fountain and conversation somewhere in the distance. “My father was accused of sorcery,” she said, sad and small. “There was a pox that swept through Camelot, years ago, and he caught it. He was so sick, but my brother had met Merlin on his travels, and knew of his potions. He brought some, in secret, and we waited up together all night, waiting to see if it would save him. The next morning, he opened his eyes and greeted us like nothing had been wrong.” She smiled over at Arthur, but the smile faded, her gaze drifting off into the distance. “No one else survived it. Someone reported him when he recovered and their loved ones hadn’t, and he was brought up on charges. He didn’t… they didn’t spare him.” They walked in silence for a long time. “They took everything, after, and I had no idea what I was going to do, and then Merlin just showed up. He was checking on the potion – he hadn’t made it before, and he wanted to make sure Father was –” she took a shaky breath, “–better. He just took me along with him. I don’t have magic, but Merlin doesn’t need help with that.” She laughed softly. “Just with everything else.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, voice catching thickly in his throat. The pox had come after Morgana had fled. Arthur couldn’t remember Gwen’s father among all the others who had lost their lives in those long hard days, among his memories of his father’s rage and his own confused grief, but he had probably been there when he was sentenced, and executed, and he hadn’t saved him.

“Thank you,” Gwen said, squeezing his arm. “I miss him so much, but he got one more truly happy day with his family than the pox would have given him. And it taught me that magic can heal, while those without it can destroy, for no other reason than their own fear. I had always been taught that magic was evil, before I met Merlin.” She shakes her head. “There’s so much goodness in him that he can’t share. He doesn’t trust anyone. He likes me. He even likes Kilgharrah – though he drives Merlin mad – but he doesn’t trust us. He helps people as a shadow, and not once does he let anyone near his own heart. The day he lets someone get to know _Merlin_ , and not the masks and mirrors he puts up around himself, he’ll be more than half in love already, but who could fall in love with the Merlin the legends make him out to be? How could anyone even begin to try? I just wish everyone else could see the truth of it.”

Arthur looked over at her profile, and then out into the gardens as they walked on in silence. His gaze flicked back, and then away, as he thought on troubles other than his own.


	8. in which the Wizard Merlin catches a cold and is an insufferable girl about it

Merlin didn’t return for the rest of the night. Arthur turned to look at the door more and more often as the golden afternoon faded to purple and the yellow lamps over their heads began to glow bright. Gwen didn’t mention Merlin’s absence as she cheerfully bullied Arthur into helping her prepare dinner, so Arthur refused to be the first to voice concern and focused on chopping potato into stubbornly uneven pieces. 

He was distracted over dinner; Gwen’s father had done work on the warships, and that topic led into Arthur’s complete lack of faith in the moving castle’s construction. Gwen laughed, putting a hand to her forehead and leaning on the table when Arthur told her about Merlin’s reaction to his project that afternoon. 

“Oh, Merlin,” she sighed finally. “For someone who has so much talent, you would think he would be able to get by, but he’s honestly kind of hopeless.” The shake of her head was unbearably fond, and Arthur smiled into his stew. “Though, I don’t think the castle would ever fall apart: he does have powerful magic.”

Arthur thought of the pennies and rabbits he was paid with, and nodded without looking at her. He frowned. “He isn’t what I was expecting, from the stories.”

“No,” she agreed. “Most of them aren’t true.”

Arthur thought of the tales he’d heard: of the Wizard Merlin turning an innocent girl into a beast, defeating Cornelius Sigan in a battle of wills, appearing from the night and evading the knights of all five kingdoms. And the darker, whispered tales, of the demon blood in his veins, and sidhe servants killing princes to keep him alive with their dark magic, and fires that rained down to destroy entire armies while he stood in the distance shouting in a language no one alive understands. That wasn’t even the worst of them. “They say he… eats people’s hearts.”

Gwen’s hand flew to her mouth, but it only took a moment for Arthur to realize that she was stifling a laugh, not reacting with shock or terror. From the grate, Kilgarrah’s rumbling laughter emerged with a plume of smoke.

“Oh, that one got away from him,” Gwen said after a moment. She smiled at Arthur’s obvious confusion. “When he was growing up, older ladies always said he could steal hearts away with a smile. Someone heard it, after he gained a bit of a name for himself and minstrels and the like started to seek out people who knew him; they took it literally. Then the rumour just kind of… grew a life of its own. He’s been hearing the stealing part of that one for a while now. I _think_ there’s a song out east about it, but he got rid of that door and remembers urgent business in another room whenever I bring it up. He’ll be really embarrassed when he hears it’s been exaggerated again.”

“His fearsome reputation is built on… old ladies gossiping because they want to pinch his cheeks.”

“He hates it,” she struggled out between her giggles.

He would, Arthur realized. He would hate that everyone was so afraid of him. The evening passed lazily. Despite having done so little, Arthur found himself yawning not long after they had cleaned dinner up. As soon as Gwen climbed the stairs to bed, he closed the curtains in his corner and fell into a deep sleep.

He stirred in the middle of the night, a muffled cough in the main room and Kilgharrah’s deep rumble filtering into his dreams. He was aware of time passing, movement and conversations in the other room as he drifted in and out of sleep, until he finally woke properly when he heard the heard the clang of the kettle being set over the fire. Arthur stretched out a foot, using it to twitch open the curtains without rising from his chair, he saw Gwen stoking the fire. She walked over to the worktable and measured out powders into a mug. “Boil the water so I can take this up to him. I thought he was determined to stay out of the fighting.”

“That has always been his plan,” Kilgharrah replied.

“What has he been doing, that has him so worn out, then?” 

“I don’t know what he does when he leaves here, but he has no reason to take part in any wars. Not yet.” 

“Did she do this?”

There was a silence that Arthur drifted off into, jerking awake again when Kilgharrah answered, “Yes.”

“He’s really sick, I think.”

“He is in no danger from this sickness, Guinevere. Leave him to rest.”

“What do you know of human illnesses, Kilgharrah?” 

The curtain swung shut as Arthur’s foot fell back to the floor; he had begun to drift off. He thought about opening the curtain again – he could hear Gwen and Kilgharrah’s conversation continue on – but he was asleep before he could decide.

Arthur woke up the next day hating his jacket. He had managed to struggle it off late in the night, sometime in the middle of all the nighttime activities of the castle’s occupants, and eyed it now with sincere distaste. Of all the clothes to be stuck wearing for days on end. Speaking of… he leaned closer and sniffed and made a face. Not good.

He emerged from the curtain alcove with the jacket thrown over one arm, thinking of a way to ask Gwen about laundry without getting laughed or sighed at, when he saw her sitting, mid-yawn at the table. Her hair was in disarray around her face, her eyes bleary. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said, spotting Arthur. “I need to go out to run some errands. Do you think you could do me a favour?”

Arthur nodded agreement, rubbing sleep from his eyes before remembering some of the details from the mid-night conversations. “Is Merlin all right?”

“Did we wake you?” She grimaced. “Sorry! He’s much better. He’s sleeping, finally.”

“He kept you up all night?”

“He always gets a little needy when he’s sick.”

“Is he always such a girl?”

Gwen raised her head to look at him as she smoothed her hair, one eyebrow raised. “ _I’m_ a girl, and while I remember one of us getting beat up with a pot when we met, it wasn’t me.”

“I think I still have that lump, actually,” Arthur conceded.

“I can give you another,” Gwen threatened, mildly. 

“Gwe-en!” Merlin’s call was piteous, and still managed to echo throughout the castle.

Gwen turned to Arthur. “He’s actually really quite sick.” Her eyes were innocently wide, and Arthur felt dread seep into his very bones.

“You’re going to ask me to nursemaid for him, aren’t you?” 

“Just for a few hours,” she said, already heading towards the stairs. 

“Gwen. Gwen, no. I don’t nurse people. I don’t know how.”

“You’ll be fine!” she assured him. “Merlin is a grown man, he doesn’t need a minder, just help him out a little bit, I’ll be back soon, thanks, bye!” 

“Gwen!” he whispered sharply, but she was gone as soon as her rapid-fire sentence was done, the door closing behind her with a mocking click.

“Gwe-e-e-en!”

Arthur had only one real memory of someone taking care of him when he was sick, and it had been his nurse, when he was a child. There were limits to what he would do for another adult, no matter how sick they were, and singing lullabies and fashioning hand puppets to keep them entertained were right near the top. Arthur opened the covered pot on the stove, and found a tray and bowl with too-forceful movements. “Grown man, my _ass_ ,” Arthur hissed at the grate as he walked away.

Kilgharrah laughed, a little meanly. “Good luck!” he said as Arthur climbed the stairs. Arthur had yet to venture into this part of the castle, and was surprised to see it consisted only of one narrow hallway with a couple closed doors on either side. Where was the rest of the castle, he wondered? What was the rest of the space used for? At the end of the hallway was a short set of stairs, a door ajar at the top of them. Arthur could hear a set of wet hacking coughs from inside, and sighed before he pushed the door open with a shoulder and went inside.

He didn’t know what he’d expected from the wizard’s room: perhaps more magical objects and workings, like the main room of the castle held. However, the room was small and simple: fresh white paint, rough wooden furniture and a small window against the furthest wall. It was also a complete mess, with clothes and books strewn over every available service. There was a desk somewhere under the stacks on top of it, and Arthur balanced his tray on the most even looking one. Against the other wall was a bed, piled high with blankets, a mess of a wizard in the center of it.

“You’re not Gwen,” Merlin said thickly when Arthur moved into view.

“Oh, you’re pathetic.” Arthur looked him over. Only his face was visible over his piles of blankets, and it was a sorry sight. His eyes were half-closed and swollen, nose bright red. He snuffled, his mouth falling open as he tried to catch a full breath. 

“I want Gwen,” he said piteously. “She’s nice to me.”

“Not that nice. She ran away,” Arthur informed him. “You have me.”

Merlin let out a long, toneless whine and slid further into his nest bonelessly. “Leave me to die,” he moaned, voice muffled by the blankets he pulled over his head.

“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.” Arthur yanked the blankets from Merlin’s face. He startled a bit when pulling them back revealed Merlin studying him evenly, his brow furrowed and expression serious before he ruined his composure with a sickly cough.

“You won’t have to kill me,” he said dramatically. “You won’t even get the chance. I’m sick. This will take me out first.”

“Gwen wouldn’t have left you if you were that ill. Stop being a baby. Sit up.”

“Why?” Merlin whined, even as he pushed himself up and scooted back to lean on his pillows. Arthur rolled his eyes and turned back to the desk, grabbing the tray and dropping it onto Merlin’s lap without another word, crossing his arms as Merlin looked down at the bowl of stew and blinked.

“You brought me food,” Merlin said softly, poking at it with his spoon

“Yes, well, you can’t die before you break the curse on me.”

Merlin slurped a spoonful, smacking his lips happily. “Morgana has always been better at curses than me. She has the – the anger for it,” he said, interrupting himself with a yawn. “At most I can muster up a faintly annoyed distemper.”

Arthur scoffed. “You could always whine the curse away.”

“Mean.” He didn’t seemed bothered, concentrating his attentions on the stew.

“What are you good at?” Arthur asked, leaning back against the wall.

Merlin shrugged, more interested in his stew than the questions. “I do potions, mostly. Some spellwork if I need to.” He looked up insulted when Arthur replied with an unimpressed noise. “I built this castle! Nothing impresses you if a moving castle doesn’t.”

“It’s not actually a castle.”

“It’s castle enough!”

“How could something be castle _enough_?”

“I don’t know. How are you such a dollophead?”

“A dollop of what on my head?” Arthur asked, laughing.

“Just a dollophead, your head is a dollop. I don’t know; I’m ill.”

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur said around a smile. 

“And you’re a royal clotpole,” Merlin shot back.

Arthur jumped. He had known _all along_? He stared as Merlin slurped his stew, quiet for long enough that Merlin looked up at him, head tilted. He took in Arthur’s surprise and laughed. “You thought you were keeping a secret! Arthur, you’re the _king of Camelot_. I know what you look like.” He paused for a moment, picking at a loose thread on his coverlet, and then muttered, “Besides, we’ve met before.”

“We have?”

Merlin nodded. “It was years ago. I was running an errand and we had … a bit of a quarrel in the training yard.”

Arthur stared. There’s no way he could have met a sorcerer _in Camelot_ and not have remembered… but wait. A fight in the training yard? Merlin, a few years younger… Arthur remembered a gangly boy calling him out in front of his knights, and the fight that had followed. “That was _you_! You called me a prat!”

“You were a prat. Still are,” he teased, tilting his head to the side and grinning. Arthur backhanded his shoulder lightly. 

“At least _I’m_ a royal one. What have you got going for yourself?” Arthur leaned back against the table. “What were you doing in the castle anyway?”

“Gaius took me in for a while,” Merlin answered. Merlin watched him warily, but despite Arthur’s surprise at Gaius’s secret, he couldn’t blame the physician for it. He remembered Merlin back then, after all, and he was hardly a threat to Camelot. When he just nodded, Merlin continued. “I couldn’t stay in Ealdor, and we didn’t know anyone else… It wasn’t for very long. Morgana’s magic was found out soon after and then it wasn’t safe there.”

Arthur could imagine. Uther’s rage at the discovery of Morgana’s magic and her escape from Camelot had been terrifying to behold. There had been more executions in those months than any time Arthur could remember… and somewhere in that chaos, Merlin had been living in fear.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said.

“It wasn’t you,” Merlin replied, and it was true, it hadn’t been, but Arthur thought of the castle Merlin had built when Uther made Camelot too dangerous for him to stay. He still had to live in a home that could run him away from danger, while Arthur was king. 

“You call her ‘Morgana’,” Arthur said after a moment. “Everyone else calls her the Witch of the Wastes.”

“Like she’s not a person,” Merlin agreed. “She is, you know. That’s what makes what she does in magic’s name so horrifying.” He put down the spoon, staring at the wall opposite blankly. “She caught up with me last night. She’s desperate for all the power she can get on her side, and soon.” He looked up at Arthur. “It won’t be long before she has every sorcerer and witch ready to fight for her, or dead at her hand.”

On her side, and soon. And here I am, cursed and forced away from Camelot, Arthur thought.

“She didn’t hurt you?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, I ran away.” Merlin laughed mirthlessly, head nodding forward as his eyes drifted shut and snapped open. “I always run away. I’m getting very good at it. Ran away from home, from the Kingdoms’ laws, from Morgana, from the druids. Ran away from Kilgharrah and his _destiny_ , too, but he managed to get his claws in me.” His hands drifted down the blankets to sit on the mattress on either side of his knees. 

“What destiny?” Arthur asked, very aware of his deal, and the curse Merlin claimed he could not break.

“Impossibilities,” he whispered. “Coins that can’t buy anything, not even the dreams he weaves, trying to get me to believe I can bring them to life. As if someone being born makes them capable of changing the world. Why would anyone want any power?” he asked, turning to Arthur abruptly. “All it gives me is… more to run from.”

Arthur took the tray from his lap, setting it aside before he tipped it over. “You’ll have to stop running eventually.”

“Yes, but then I’ll have to choose a side to stand with, and none of them seemed worth –” His head fell forward onto his chest. 

“All right, come on. Lie down.” Arthur manhandled him, getting an elbow in the chest for his trouble as Merlin flailed. He picked a fallen pillow off the floor and tossed it onto Merlin’s face. Arthur ignored the whining as Merlin tucked it under his own head, and ordered, “Go to sleep.” When he looked down, Merlin’s eyes were already closed. “Perfect,” Arthur muttered. “At this rate, I’m going to be cursed forever. Camelot is probably falling apart around Agravaine’s treacherous feet.” He paused, the twist of worry at that thought, at all that could be going wrong without him there to keep his kingdom safe sharp. “I should be there,” he told the silence of the room. “They need me there. What kind of king can I be though, like this?” He forced a laugh. “I’ll need a new job I suppose. Maybe I can make a new life for myself. I could guard things. Or… scare people.” He wiped a hand over his face resignedly.

“You could stay here,” Merlin said, the words dragging into each other and getting lost as his eyes fluttered open. Arthur looked around the room and snorted. 

“There’s nowhere to sit,” he replied.

Merlin stared, his brow furrowed. Then he sighed. “Right,” he said softly, eyes closing again. After a moment, his mouth dropped open and he wheezed into sleep.

Arthur moved the stack of books and a pair of boots from the single chair and stayed.

The morning passed slowly. Arthur found a book to flip through, filled with illustrations of mystical creatures and penned with descriptions and methods of control and attack. The writing was jagged and slowly dipped up and down the page like a drunkard wandering home from the tavern, but the adventures hinted at within the pages were mesmerizing. Why would someone face a griffin with only a bundle of sticks? What in the world was a kelpie and why was it unwise to trust it just wanted a friendly swim? Arthur looked up at Merlin, sleeping with his mouth open, drool on the pillow, wondering at the blank spaces in some of the pages, as if the book were a work in progress.

It couldn’t be… no. He wouldn’t.

Eventually, Gwen opened the door and Arthur stood quickly, ignoring her surprised smile as he walked from the room. He wasn’t _watching over_ Merlin. He was just… if Merlin was ill he couldn’t fix Arthur, obviously. He spent much of the rest of the day coming up with additional reasons why this was the truth of the matter, though Gwen didn’t mention it when she joined him. Without the satisfaction of presenting the reasons, it felt rather like he was trying to convince himself, which was just… no, that wasn’t the way of it at all.


	9. in which Merlin plans an ill-advised theft

The next morning, Gwen left soon after breakfast. Merlin was – apparently – much better, though he hadn’t emerged and Arthur was left alone to putter about the castle. Without company, the room was quiet; muffled noises from whichever street happened to be outside the window filtered in and mingled with the sound of the fire.

“How does Merlin deal with the boredom?” Arthur complained to Kilgharrah. There was a drip from the sink in the corner, and Arthur wandered over to fiddle with the taps.

“You have caught him at an odd time. He is generally much busier.”

“Yes, making penny potions and doing a bit of spellwork. He told me.” Arthur ignored the burst of laughter from the grate as he bent down to fetch the toolkit.

“Is _that_ what he told you?”

“Does he not even do that much?” Arthur asked as he began to tighten the pipes. “His moving castle has a _leaking pipe_ , gods help us. What kind of wizard has dripping sinks? You know, I would think he had started all those rumours just to keep people from putting him to honest work, but I can’t imagine he enjoys them. Although, maybe he just didn’t think things through.”

Kilgharrah didn’t answer, but Arthur took no notice of the silence, his project distracting him. He turned the water off and settled in to work. It took an hour before he was satisfied. As he turned the taps on and off, checking the run of water, he remembered the state of his jacket. Gwen wasn’t there to help with the laundry, but it had occurred to Arthur that she would probably give him _that_ look if he asked, anyway.

It wasn’t like it would be hard. Stripping the jacket off, he looked down at his shirt, considered, and then pulled that over his head as well. He found some soap, filled the kettle and then the sink, and looked down at the mess of it contemplatively. He poked at the wet bundle and wondered how long he was supposed to leave it in the water.

The door on the landing opened too enthusiastically, marking Merlin’s arrival into the room. 

“I have a brilliant pla – uh.”

Arthur turned, searching the room to find Merlin standing on the landing above. He was dressed for the day, looking as if his health was restored, his gaze fixed on Arthur and a deep flush spreading across his cheeks.

“A brilliant plan?”

“Uh… um.” Merlin answered intelligently, his gaze fixed on Arthur.

“What is the matter with you?” Arthur asked, propping his hands on his hips. He took a step forward when Merlin blanched considerably, but before he could repeat his question, the outside door opened and Gwen climbed the stairs.

“Good morning!” she called up to Merlin. She smiled in Arthur’s direction when he answered, clearly having trouble finding him in the bright light of the room. Merlin didn’t answer.

“What’s wrong with Merlin?” Gwen asked Arthur, concerned.

He snapped out of it. “Nothing is wrong with me!”

“He has a brilliant plan, apparently, but then he just stood up there dumbstruck.” Arthur shrugged.

“Are you naked?” Gwen asked, squinting in his direction before she realized what she was doing and looked to the ceiling, biting the insides of her lips. 

“No!”

“He’s not!” Merlin squeaked at the same time. Both Arthur and Gwen looked over at him, eyebrows raised at the panicked break in his voice and his blush deepened. Gwen narrowed her eyes at him as her grin grew. Arthur very nearly laughed; he was _shy_? Before he could decide whether he wanted to cover up, or tease Merlin mercilessly, Merlin pleaded with them, “Can we please get back to my plan? Fully clothed? Please?”

“My clothes are sopping wet,” Arthur protested.

“Why?” Gwen asked. She appeared ready to laugh, too. She looked between Arthur and Merlin, her lower lip and chin quivering as she fought to keep a straight face.

“I had to wash them. I only have one set of invisible clothes. Unless you have some others lying about.”

“But how would we find them? Get yours out of the sink, I’ll get the Drying Powder. Merlin, come down. We’ll get him dressed.”

Arthur shook his head as Merlin dragged himself slowly down the stairs, his gaze flicking about the room, anywhere but at Arthur. If he’d known laundry was going to cause such a panic, Arthur would have waited for Gwen’s return. Who knew a wizard would be such a swooning damsel about something Arthur wouldn’t think twice about while on a summer hunt or long patrol with his knights. Gwen came over with a wrapped paper package, sprinkling the powder inside over Arthur’s wet shirt and jacket. Arthur shook them out, feeling the fabric, which was completely dry.

He glared down at the jacket he now had no excuse to ignore. “And it lingers,” he muttered.

When Arthur was fully dressed and back at the table, Merlin could finally meet his eyes again, though a blush stained his cheekbones and ears and he sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Gwen still looked as though she wanted to laugh at him, but took pity instead and asked, “What is this brilliant plan, then?”

That distracted him. He looked from Gwen to Arthur with a smile that made Arthur distinctly uneasy. According to Gwen’s expression, he wasn’t alone. 

“We need to break into Camelot.”

“What?” Arthur exclaimed. 

“Absolutely not,” Gwen said sternly, but apparently Merlin had his strength back, if the stubborn glint in his eyes was any indication. 

“We won’t have to walk up to the main gate!” Merlin said. “We’ll make a door into Gaius’s chambers.”

“We?” Arthur asked, throwing his arms out. He was breaking into his own castle. These were new lows.

“He doesn’t want to _break into Camelot_ with you,” Gwen argued.

“He’s invisible! No one is going to see him do it.”

“Why would you even consider this?” Gwen asked flustered. Arthur remembered suddenly that she still didn’t know who he was… not that Merlin getting caught in Camelot with its invisible king would save him. Come to think of it, if Agravaine was working with Morgana, there was every chance Arthur wouldn’t be much safer.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered as Merlin danced around Gwen’s question. 

“I just need to pick something up,” Merlin said, as if he’d left a book or some clothes behind in the move. Both Gwen and Arthur put their hands on their hips and waited him out. There was steel in him somewhere, though. Merlin wouldn’t explain just what he needed in Camelot, and while Gwen argued with him, Arthur felt torn. His desire to check in with his kingdom was overriding the concern he should feel at allowing a sorcerer into the castle, what was supposed to be the most secure place in Camelot. What was he going to do, though, this runaway wizard? Even if he had the power to create chaos in the keep, Arthur rather thought he wouldn’t. 

“Let’s do it,” he said. Both Gwen and Merlin turned to look at him in one motion, and he almost laughed. One invisible royal fugitive and a reviled sorcerer, sneaking into the castle of the Kingdom most notorious for fearing, and persecuting magic? He shook his head. What had his life become? “It sounds like fun.”

Gwen threw her hands up and muttered to herself, but Merlin was holding very still, watching Arthur’s face carefully. “You don’t want to know what I’m going after?” Merlin asked, tone even and weighted with something Arthur couldn’t identify.

Arthur hadn’t even considered that he would steal something Arthur wouldn’t part with willingly for him. “It’s something that you need, obviously,” Arthur replied dismissively. “You’re not going to bring the Kingdom down around our ears.”

“No, I’m not.” Merlin’s reply was soft. He looked down at the floor for a moment, and then up to meet Arthur’s gaze. His grin was sudden, and blindingly bright.

“You’ve both lost your minds,” Gwen announced, standing. “ _Boys_ ,” she muttered at Kilgharrah as she walked past the hearth and disappeared upstairs. Merlin laughed and then ushered Arthur over against the worktable, leaving him there to walk to the hearth. 

“Okay, Kilgharrah,” Arthur heard him murmur. “It’s an old door, shouldn’t be too much work to reopen it.”

“Easy for you to talk about it,” Kilgharrah complained. “I’m the one who has to find all those old magics.”

“Because you’re the best at it,” Merlin said cheerfully. Kilgharrah continued to grumble, but wasn’t serious about it any longer. The fire grew larger, enough so that Merlin stepped back, and back again to escape the heat. There was a rumbling tremor beneath Arthur’s feet as the potion bottles and dishes on the tables and cupboards rattled against each other. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe, and Arthur struggled to pull in air that felt solid and thick into his lungs, but only for a moment as the air compressed against his sides and lungs and squeezed against his head, and then it was all over and the room was quiet and still, Kilgharrah’s fire tame in the hearth.

Merlin laughed, delighted, and hurried over to the door. He looked up at the dial on the wall, where white had been replaced by red . 

He looked back at Arthur and smiled. “Ready?” he asked. Arthur joined him on the stairs and nodded. Merlin opened the door, and walked down another flight of stairs, down into a familiar room. Arthur looked around as he followed him, shocked. The smell of books and herbs, earthy and quiet, filled Arthur’s nose as he stepped forward. There was the rough table, the cot in the corner, the second story bookshelves and leech tank. They were inside Gaius’s chambers. He looked behind him, up into the castle, and back into Camelot, just a step apart. Arthur wanted to feel concerned that Merlin could so easily bypass the security into his city, but he was very aware that this freedom of his was probably the reason Merlin had been able to be on hand to save Arthur from Morgana’s sorcerers. Arthur shut the door behind him, following Merlin down the rest of the stairs. 

“Now what?” he asked in a whisper. Merlin grinned at him before he remembered that no one would be able to hear him, even if he shouted. He scowled. “You’re not invisible,” he reminded Merlin. “You might want to get on with it, before someone –” The outer door opened and Gaius walked in. He shut the door behind him before he looked up, freezing when he saw Merlin. “ – finds you here,” Arthur finished lamely. 

They froze in place, a surprised tableau, before Merlin stepped forward.

“Hi, Gaius.”

“Merlin?” Gaius asked softly. “My boy.” He embraced him for a long time, and then stepped back and cuffed Merlin soundly. Arthur coughed a surprised laugh at the outrage on Merlin’s face. 

“Ow!” Merlin protested, staring affronted.

“You disappeared.” Gaius’s tone was stern.

“I know.”

“Without so much as a _note_ ,” Gaius continued, and Arthur knew that tone. It was the one he used when Arthur had done something particularly stupid and risked his life. It was Gaius worried and scared, and Arthur suddenly felt like an intruder in this reunion between them.

Even more so when Merlin’s expression crumpled as he realized the same thing. “I _know_. Gaius, I’m sorry.”

Gaius softened only slightly, and still looked like he was going to go for more when he jumped slightly. He looked around the room. “Arthur?” he asked Merlin a hint of panic evident in his voice.

Merlin looked over at Arthur and smiled. Arthur huffed, not even bothering an attempt to get Gaius’s attention; the curse was well and truly unwelcome. “He’s here, Gaius. No harm done to him. Other than the invisibility, but that wasn’t my fault. Obviously.” He petered out, rocking on his heels as Arthur and Gaius gave him the same level, unimpressed looks. Merlin looked from one to the other and sighed, dropping his head and making a face.

“Why hasn’t the curse been broken?” Gaius asked, eyebrows lowered.

“I can’t. You know how good she’s become at them.” Gaius narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin cut him off. “She has the Cup of Life.”

Gaius started, eyes wide. “Are you sure? How did this happen?”

“She stole it from the Druids two nights ago,” Merlin explained. “They got news to me that she was planning on attacking, but I waited too long… I was too late: she attacked me, and took the Cup. The Druids helped me recover enough to get back to the castle, but she was already gone and had the Cup with her.”

“Are you all right?” Gaius asked sharply.

“It was just a little curse,” Merlin said, exaggeratedly flippant. “Hardly got me.” He flicked his gaze to Arthur and away, quickly.

That ‘cold’, Arthur realized. Merlin had never really answered when Arthur had asked if Morgana had hurt him, had merely said he’d run away from her… Arthur had assumed he was just being a baby when… when Morgana had _cursed_ him.

“Merlin…” Gaius said cautiously, his voice full of concern.

“I know. I know it’s bad, Gaius. I couldn’t stop her.” 

“What is this Cup?” Arthur asked, feeling left behind.

“The Cup of Life,” Merlin told him.

“It’s an ancient object of power,” Gaius continued, obviously guessing Arthur’s question. “The Druids protect it, keep it from being abused. In the right hands, it is an object of great healing, bringing the most ill or injured back to life. In the wrong hands, however… If the blood of an army’s soldiers are added to the cup, it will take their lives and leave in their place undead that will not tire, or disobey, or be killed by mortal means. The possessor of the Cup will command an Immortal army,” he finished grimly.

“What army?” Arthur asked. “She has no army. We would know.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed as he thought. “She doesn’t do anything without a plan,” he said slowly. “She must have a reason for stealing the Cup now. The Druids aren’t without defenses… and doing this made them all turn against her. She’ll get no support from them now.”

They stood quiet. Arthur took a breath, not looking at Merlin or Gaius, watching the leeches crawl on the side on the glass container against the wall beside him. He remembered the hatred in Morgana’s eyes and knew that she wouldn’t stop until she had destroyed everything Camlelot stood for. She had an army. That Arthur’s spies and advisors had known nothing about it didn’t matter, Arthur knew Morgana. If now she had the weapon to do it, she would find an army to command. 

“We need to get the sword,” Merlin said to Gaius. “It’s the only weapon that can be used against the army Morgana is capable of creating.”

Gaius’s eyebrows had risen as Merlin spoke, and he examined him in a long moment of silence when he was done. Arthur wasn’t sure what he was looking for. “That’s quite a commitment to a side,” he said finally.

Merlin hunched his shoulders defensively. “Its Arthur’s sword, Arthur can keep it. It’s just… evening the sides out, is all. I’m not involved.” Arthur looked between them, lost again.

Gaius blinked, lips twitching into a frown. He looked disappointed, Arthur thought, but covered it quickly. “How are you planning to steal this sword?” Gaius asked. “It’s kept in the throne room, at the center of the castle. There will be guards on duty, not to mention the fact that it has been ensconced in stone for nearly twenty years, thanks to Nimueh’s curse on Uther.”

“Wait,” Arthur interrupted the conversation, shaking his head, almost laughing. “You can’t be serious,” he said to Merlin. “That’s a _story_. The sword isn’t actually magic.”

“It is magic,” Merlin told Arthur. “It’s – it’s the only thing that can stand against the Immortal soldiers. We need it.”

“It’s also _buried in the stone floor_ ,” Arthur exclaimed.

“Do you plan on walking in and magicking it out in full view of the court?”

“Oh, no, I won’t be stealing it. Arthur will.”

Arthur was relishing his invisibility; Gaius couldn’t turn that stare on him. He bit the inside of his lips as Merlin shifted, embarrassed. Sure that Gaius was going to rip holes in this plan, Arthur was surprised when instead the old physician squinted at Merlin and said, “You believe he can pull it out.” There was no inflection to make it a question. Merlin’s cheeks blushed a deeper red. 

Arthur scoffed. “It’s in _solid stone_ ,” he protested. 

Merlin flapped a hand at both of them. Arthur made an annoyed sound, but Gaius moved on. “Arthur is invisible,” Gaius said. He paused for a moment, scrutinizing Merlin as if he hoped to find an answer different than the one he expected in his student’s face. “How is he supposed to carry it back here, once he has it?” 

“Oh…” Merlin said simply. He looked over at Arthur. “I didn’t think of that.” Arthur was utterly confounded. People in five kingdoms lived in fear of this idiot.

Gaius sighed, looking to the ceiling for patience before suggesting, “At least wait until the noon bell rings. There will be a change in guard, and more people in the corridors and halls. You’ll be able to slip into the room unseen. Once Arthur takes the sword, you can wrap it up and bring it back here. You’ll blend in with the servants,” he said, examining Merlin’s rumpled waistcoat critically.

“What would I do without you, Gaius?” Merlin laughed.

Gaius smiled, but only until Merlin looked to Arthur for approval on the plan. Then his concern was evident. He sighed when he looked away from him. 

They had time to wait before the noon bell. Merlin wandered off to look over new books Gaius had acquired in his absence. Once he was thoroughly distracted, Gaius held up a quill and piece of parchment. When Arthur took it, he gestured for him to follow, and directed them to the other side of the room, away from Merlin’s distracted mumblings.

“Your Highness, I have a lot of explaining to do. I made a promise to your father, after your mother died, that I would turn my back on magic forever. I kept that promise for many years, even though, sometimes, I wondered if it was always in the best interests of Camelot that I did so. I was loyal to Uther.”

‘I know,’ Arthur wrote, and he did. Gaius had served Uther faithfully, as he served Arthur himself. Arthur had known Gaius his entire life, knew his heart. If he had secrets, it wasn’t for his own advancement, and it wasn’t against Camelot, or Arthur. 

“Merlin…” Gaius looked over at Merlin before he continued, watching with fondness on his face as he wandered about the room. “I knew his parents. When he was no longer safe in Ealdor, his mother wrote to me, asking for my help in keeping him safe. He was only a boy. He had done no wrong, was no danger to your father, or the kingdom, but Uther’s laws…” Gaius stopped before he could criticize Uther’s reign. Arthur wanted him to continue, to say the things Arthur had been struggling with, secretly. 

“I fear for him,” Gaius said softy, watching Merlin as he spoke. “I watched as Morgana was destroyed by her fear and hatred. As she became the monster Uther saw in her, once he discovered her magic. Now, Merlin slips ever further away from me. It’s not the power that destroys them, in the end. Not all of them.”

‘What could be monstrous about him?’ Arthur wrote absently, watching as Merlin’s wandering took him to Gaius’s hearth, and the pot of porridge bubbling there. He stuck a finger in, and jumped backwards, stuffing the burned digit into his mouth. Arthur scoffed. ‘Besides, he’s not truly magic,’ Arthur wrote, thinking of potions for colic and magical beasts disappearing without Merlin ever having been seen by the simple villagers complaining of them, of copper pennies and rabbits in sacks. He couldn’t see any of the powerful sorcerers his father had feared: Nimueh, or Sigan, or Morgana for that matter, ever using their power for so trivial a cause, or so little recompense. ‘He’s not like Morgana. He doesn’t have any real power.’

Gaius read the message and his eyebrows tried to combine with his hairline. “Arthur, I think you’ve misunderstood –”

The noon bells rang, distant and muffled by the stone walls. Merlin turned back to them, grinning nervously. “Ready?” he asked Arthur.

Arthur took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. Sneaking about his own castle to steal a powerful magical artifact from under the nose of his traitorous uncle? “Of course,” he told him, smiling his own nervous grin. “What can go wrong?”

As it turned out, plenty.


	10. in which there is a sword in a stone and Arthur discovers Merlin's fear quite by accident

Arthur kept close to Merlin as they walked the corridors. The rooms between Gaius’s chambers and the old throne room were mostly used by scribes and ministers, and were quiet. Some servants and assistants walked by on noon-time errands, but none paid any attention to Merlin. Arthur was being very helpful, directing Merlin through the castle, correcting his posture to help him blend in with the castle staff, and posing last-minute questions about their plan.

“Can you stop?” Merlin hissed at him from the side of his mouth. A maid passing by gave him a second glance, and he grinned widely, turning his head to track her until she skittered away, glancing back at him over her shoulder nervously.

“Very inconspicuous,” Arthur said dryly.

“You keep talking to me!” Merlin protested. “What’s an inconspicuous way to talk to an invisible person?”

“Just get in there before you get noticed by the guards.”

Merlin huffed, but did as he was told. He had to push hard on the heavy wooden doors for them to budge enough for him and Arthur to slip inside. There was a heavy scent of dust inside; curtains over the windows dimmed and stifled the room, especially compared to the corridors outside. Pillars ran along the side of the room, with a narrow rectangular table in the center, and a single throne at the far end. Arthur used it only rarely; despite his more conservative councillors’ complaints, they had moved most matters of state to the much larger which held the round table.

Behind a dusty set of curtains backing the raised dais on which the throne sat, hidden from sight of the room, in the center of the old dais that had held Uther’s throne during the years of the Purge, the sword was thrust deep into the stone floor. There was light falling on the dais before it in a narrow wedge, dust dancing through the air. It wasn’t illuminated by that light, not anything so silly, Arthur knew, but it did seem to glint off the gold hilt, the sharp edge the so-long unused blade still carried.

“It was forged in the breath of a dragon,” Merlin said from behind him, as Arthur walked slowly to where the sword stood from the stone of the dais. “Or so they say,” he added, quickly.

“You know it’s just a story, don’t you?” Arthus asked, without looking away. “That Nimueh’s spell would allow the true king to pull the sword from the stone, I mean. She said it to insult my father, that’s all.” Arthur could see that Merlin was watching him from his peripheral as he examined the sword. “It’s not – my father was the rightful king. He was a just king. If the magic were going to recognize that, he would have been able to pull it out himself. I’m not –. Merlin, just use magic on it and let’s go.”

“I think you should try, first,” Merlin responded.

“Why?” Arthur asked. Reluctance weighed heavily in his stomach, tensed his shoulders and neck. 

“Why not?”

“Whatever you’ve heard about this sword, they’re just stupid stories. My father told me what really happened that day. Nimueh tried to turn Camelot against him by making them think he couldn’t pull the sword out because he wasn’t worthy. She betrayed him, and wanted to destroy him. When she couldn’t do it with her spells, she tried to do it with lies. But it was all a trick; no one can pull it out.”

“Have you tried?” 

“Of course not. I wouldn’t waste my time.” He had seen knights far stronger than him try, when he was a squire. He knew visiting lords and princes, servants and travellers alike all tried when there was no Pendragon in the room to watch them. All those attempts and here the sword stood. 

“Did you not want to know?”

Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s not true, Merlin.”

“Or it is,” Merlin replied, “and you are afraid to try.”

Arthur gritted his teeth against the unkind words that fought for freedom. The sword was a familiar sight, he knew every design on the hilt, every mark on the stone holding the blade fast, though he had never touched it. Still, he looked to it, and not Merlin as he said, “What if I had tried and succeeded, while my father was king?” he asked tersely. “What if I try and it holds fast, now that I am? What if it’s true, and I haven’t done enough right to be considered –?”

“What if it’s true, and you are the king that is worthy of Camelot, that unites Albion? You should try.”

“But –”

“Just try it.” Merlin looked as nervous as Arthur at the prospect but his uncertain smile unstuck Arthur’s feet so he could step up onto the dais and set his hand on the hilt. He took a breath, pursing his lips as he exhaled, shifting each of his fingers on the sword and bracing his feet. He could see Merlin watching him from the corner of his eye, but focused his attention on the blade, the way his hand curled into a fist as he tightened his grip and pulled…

He thought for a moment that his grip was slipping as he met no resistance but the sword was sliding against the stone it had been melted into as if from an oiled sheath, without a sound or spark. Arthur stared at it as it left the stone entirely, as he held it out in front of him, looking from the whole, unmarked blade, to the unblemished floor where it had been ensconced his entire life. He hadn’t thought – he truly hadn’t believed it would come free for him, after all his mistakes, during the _mess_ he’d made of the past week, with Camelot undefended and threatened. There was always so much he failed to do, by his people, but he had pulled the sword free from the stone. He turned back to the room, holding the blade horizontally, and looked to Merlin.

Merlin was looking at the sword, brow furrowed slightly. He looked up at Arthur, expression serious as he searched his face, and then nodded, once, as if making a decision. Then he smiled widely, head tilted and his grin openly delighted.

Arthur shook his head, but couldn’t hide his own smile as he looked down at the sword in his hand. He shifted his grip, testing the balance and finding it perfect. The blade still held a shine, along with its edge.

“’Just magic it out, Merlin’,” Merlin whined in a voice that sounded _nothing_ like Arthur’s. Arthur glared, ignoring the giddy smile Merlin wore as he teased him. 

“How was I supposed to know –”

“You have to have a little faith, Arthur,” Merlin interrupted, turning his back to him as he spoke. He went to the door, peering around the edges into the corridor. “In me, if you lose it in yourself, sometimes.” He looked back to Arthur and smiled over his shoulder.

“I will.” It couldn’t be mistaken as anything but a promise. Merlin’s teasing grin faded at the serious response. Arthur secured the sword in his belt in the silence that followed. “We should get out of the castle, before you’re noticed.”

Arthur did another check, peering around the corner of the door into the corridor. He gestured Merlin to follow as he stepped out of the throne room. “Hurry,” he whispered sharply. As soon as Merlin had stepped into the corridor, however, and closed the door behind him, he froze, staring over Arthur’s shoulder and exhaling harshly. Arthur spun around, to see two of the sorcerer minions Morgana had set on him, Dagr and Ebor, at the end of the corridor. Arthur cursed and reached for the door handle, grabbing on to Merlin’s coat. If he could just get the two of them out of sight – but it was too late. Dagr looked up and gaped, before hitting Ebor hard with an elbow and starting toward Merlin and Arthur, eyes already glinting yellow.

Arthur reached for the sword at his belt, but Merlin grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. “Run,” Merlin gasped, using the grip he had on Arthur’s coat to pull him back down the corridor, away from the two sorcerers _and_ Merlin’s door in Gaius’s chambers. 

Arthur tried to shake him off, to free his sword hand and make himself room to fight, but Merlin grabs at him again. “Gods, you prat!” he yelps, the first burst of magic narrowly missing them, and exploding against the wall behind their heads. “Yes, you have a shiny new sword but its not going to _reflect their spells_! Run!”

They turned and ran. Arthur followed behind Merlin closely, nearly clipping his heels as they skid on the smooth stone floor of the corridor, taking the corners without slowing. Something crashed behind them, and then something flew past Arthur’s head, nearly clipping Merlin as it shattered against the wall ahead of them. Merlin threw up his arms to cover his face as stone chips pelted them. Are they throwing statues? Arthur thought, aghast. Merlin looked back at him over his shoulder, his expression incredulous as he asked himself the same question, and they pushed themselves to another burst of speed. They were out of the quiet, work-oriented corridors, and into the main passageways of the castle, their path blocked by servants and staff, nobles and guests. People stared at Merlin as he dodged between them, narrowly avoiding the skirts of one noble lady, jumping over the laundry basket two girls tugged between them. Arthur clipped the shoulder of a valet, sending the man tumbling to the floor, and losing his footing for a moment. The stumble was accompanied by a burst of wind over his shoulder, which sent three scribes flying into the wall. Arthur ignored the burn in his chest and kept running. 

Once the sorcerers followed Arthur and Merlin in sight of the rest of the castle, the magic had to stop and they gained a little distance from their pursuers. Merlin was obviously heading for the gates into the courtyard, but Arthur knew there was no way they’d be able to slip through the guards, especially if his knights had managed to get their trusted men to up security under Agravaine’s nose. As Merlin cut to the left, Arthur leapt forward two steps and grabbed his arm, pulling him straight down the corridor, towards the barracks.

“This is where your knights are, Arthur!” Merlin huffed as they ran. “The knights that will arrest me, and who can’t see you when you beg them not to, those knights.”

“Beg, really?” Arthur panted back. “I don’t know that I’d put that much energy into it!” He shot a look over his shoulder; they were faster than their pursuers, but not by much. Though the two sorcerers had fallen behind, they were well in sight. They didn’t have to catch Merlin and Arthur to use their magic, just get close enough when there were no witnesses.

The halls grew narrow and less ornate as they entered the wing where, as Merlin said, Arthur’s knights were housed and trained. They were lucky as they pelted down the main stretch, running into no one who would find Merlin’s flight suspicious. The last thing they needed was to get caught. Arthur led the way, up a wide, turning staircase. The open hallway that stretched along the highest side of the castle cut the echoes of their footsteps, and instead the thin air blew across the causeway, over the waist-high barricade on either side. On the other side, Merlin slid to a stop. Arthur protested, doubling back to grab hold of him as he pushed the doors shut behind them. Holding out his free hand, Merlin stared at the handles and murmured words Arthur didn’t understand. The bar handles detached at the bottom, curling up into the air like snakes before tying around themselves, securing the doors closed. There was a crash that made both Arthur and Merlin leap back as Dagr and Ebor hit the door. The makeshift magic lock held, and Arthur grinned as Merlin whooped. 

They backed up away from the door, hearing as someone chanted on the other side. It wouldn’t hold long. Already, the metal began to glow with heat; they would melt it off. Without a word, they spun and continued down the corridor.

Another small flight of stairs, and Merlin and Arthur burst into a wide, high ceilinged room. Three of the walls were open to the air, with only spaced pillars along the floor, separating the room from the drop where the floor ended. From these walls, one could look down over the highest point of Camelot, over the steep face that protected this side of the keep from attack. There was no gentle slope, as was on the other side, leading down to the town. Here, it was very nearly sheer, and high enough to still drag at Arthur’s stomach when he was near the edge, though he had been in these hangars since he was a child. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said slowly, looking around. There were no other doors from the hangar into the rest of the castle, and he had just noticed the drop that began where the floor ended. He looked at the door they’d come through – which their pursuers would soon come through – worriedly.

It was here their war machines and flyers were stored. And since their other exits were blocked, this was how they were going to make their escape.

Arthur caught his jacket at his elbow, getting his attention. “Trust me,” he said. 

Merlin nodded, slowly and building speed as he realized, “Yeah. I do.”

Arthur led Merlin into the hangar, his gaze fixed on the group of knights standing at the far side. They were talking amongst themselves, standing near the edge at one of the take-off points, without a barricade between the floor and the drop. Arthur led Merlin through the rows of aircrafts, past the huge war machines and droppers, the small gliders until he reached a particular one-man flyer. It wasn’t one of the ornate machines used in parades and formations; it was scratched along the side and the Pendragon red wings and rudder were worn from sun and wind but Arthur ran his fingers along the stylized gold dragon stencilled on the side with a soft smile. Arthur climbed up onto the short curved wing on the side of the metal tubular craft and into the open seat. The tiller, switches and gears pulled forward together. He flipped a switch and watched as the dials and gears began to slowly wake, the wings extending from the sides on their long arms.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked as he noticed Arthur was no longer beside him. He looked to the knights, back at the door and then at the flyer, eyes wide. “No. No, no, no.”

“Merlin! Get on.”

“No thank you, no.”

“You want to take your chances with Morgana’s sorcerers? Or my knights? I can fly us out: just get up here and stand behind my seat.” He stared as Merlin shook his head frantically. “Are you seriously afraid of flying?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘flying’ exactly.”

Arthur put his head down on the tiller, eyes closed. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“It’s not like its natural! You can’t just go up into the air, held up there by, what, some screws and some tiny little wings, how do they even stay up!”

“You’re afraid because it’s a flying machine – Merlin, you live in a _mechanical_ castle!”

“It’s _on the ground_!”

There was a crash as the door burst open, flying off its hinges and into a flyer parked to its side. Merlin’s trick had not made them happy; as the sorcerers walked into the hangar, they were obviously furious. 

“Stop them!” Dagr shouted, pointing at Arthur and Merlin even as Ebor stepped behind a drifter and, out of the knights’ sight, held his hands together and began to recite a spell. All of the knights spun to face them, stalled by their confusion, but it wouldn’t last long if these two were truly allied with Agravaine, and Arthur didn’t want to wait and see what else these sorcerers could throw at them. Taking advantage of the distraction, Arthur reached forward and grabbed the shoulder of Merlin’s vest, pulling him up, flailing, into the flyer. 

“Arthur –!” Merlin struggled against his hold.

“You trust me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Merlin took a deep breath and then pressed back behind Arthur’s seat, holding tight. Arthur nodded at him, reassuringly, and started the machine, smiling as it roared to life. The wheels engaged and they were rolling towards the open space – and the knights standing in front of it – gaining speed quickly. A flash of light and heat as something jarred the flyer sharply, hitting it from behind. The sorcerers were throwing spells at the flyer. Arthur twisted back to glare at them, furious. 

Merlin muttered under his breath as the next ball of bright light flew towards them; it was deflected by a golden sphere that burst into life around the flyer.

They were building up speed and Arthur flipped the switch, and spun the gear to start the propellers. Though their rush towards the end of the hangar didn’t slow, the propellers refused to engage. They wouldn’t take off.

“Come on, come on, come on!” Arthur jammed the ignition and turned the throttle gear madly. Merlin was cursing foully behind his head, his grip tight enough on Arthur’s shoulder to be painful. Another flash of light hit them, but this time it rolled along the surface of the flyer as if they were covered in a layer of glass. The angry light flashed and faded. There was more shouting behind them.

“Arthur!” Merlin yelled, panicked, as they rushed towards open space, the propellers chugging and wheezing but not spinning, not taking them into the air. 

“I’ve got this!” The knights scattered when it was clear they were not stopping, and even over the sound of the flyer, Arthur could hear the yelling of the sorcerers, ordering the knights to stop them.

“Arthur!” Merlin yelled again, the edge of the hangar rushing towards them, no time to veer off course even if it were an option. They went over the edge, and they stayed steady, weightless for a long, long moment before the front end of the plane dipped down and they began to build speed, wind rushing past them as the ground began its rapid rush to meet them. Merlin gasped in a desperate breath. Arthur turned the gear again, pressing a rapid combination of switches as he did, ignoring Merlin’s panic. He had been flying since he was a child. He had this. The ground was close, all he could hear now was the roar of the wind rushing through the flyer.

With a loud pop and a burst of dark smoke, the propellers began to spin. With a jerk, the flyer leveled out, clipping the tips of the low brush on the ground, and then soared up into the air, pressing Arthur back into his seat as they rose above the trees. He looked back at the castle, at the figures standing in the hangar, staring out after them and whooped. “Told you I had it, didn’t I, Merlin!”

Merlin was holding on tight to the sides, white-knuckled and gasping for breath. “I hate you. I hate you.”

Arthur laughed, still high from the rush. “No, you don’t.” He steadied the flyer, but as soon as he removed his hands from the tiller it spun to the right, and the left wing rose sharply, jerking the flyer to the side.

“What was that?” Merlin asked, his voice tight with panic.

“Nothing,” Arthur said calmly. “Don’t be such a _baby_ , Merlin.” He looked at the gauges and dials and swallowed, pressing his lips together. They would reach the edge of the Wastes soon, the castle not long after. Arthur looked at the readings again, and tightened his grip, coaxing more speed from the machine.

The heavy forests of Camelot dwindled down into the Wastes as the trees slowly dotted into the hills and brush, the roads fading away to nothing below. The thrum of the propellers and the rush of wind past them made conversation impossible, so Arthur kept glancing back at Merlin. As the landscape changed below them, his white-knuckle grip loosened slightly and he managed to open his screwed-shut eyes. In fact, he was scanning the horizon around them with something approaching wonder, as colour came back to his cheeks. 

He tapped Arthur’s shoulder excitedly. When Arthur twisted around, he followed Merlin’s pointing finger to the left. The moving castle was travelling along a hill crest in the distance, blue against the hazy horizon. Arthur changed direction toward it with a wave of relief pulling the blood from his head. His hands were completely numb from holding the tiller steady; it had been shaking violently for the past twenty minutes, the flyer fighting to jerk to the side. On top of the normal drone of the flyer, Arthur could hear a worrying roar building steadily. It only grew worse as they got closer to the castle. They could smell something burning, now, the smoke beginning to trail behind them in a cloud. Arthur lost his grip for a moment and the flyer bucked wildly, knocking Merlin into the back of Arthur’s chair. Arthur gritted his teeth.

“Hold on to something!” he shouted over the noise. Merlin grabbed the fabric of Arthur’s coat and held tight as the flyer vibrated wildly under his feet. The castle was right ahead of them, now and Arthur took a deep breath before he tried to bring the flyer down, but as soon as he pushed the tiller forward, he lost the control he had been fighting to maintain. He heard Merlin grunt as they spun to the side, his feet getting swept out from under him, only his grip on Arthur keeping him from falling away. The roar was deafening, a mechanical whine building to a sharp, shrill pitch. 

Arthur pulled hard on the controls, trying to pull the veering aircraft out of its spin. He held the tiller tight with one hand as he flipped switches desperately; it shook hard enough to jar his arm right to the elbow. He ignored Merlin’s gasp as he knocked a lever with his elbow, the flyer jerked forward and then to the side, spinning towards the ground. They barely avoided crashing head on into the castle, but the impact of the wing scraping along the metal exterior was enough to send Merlin flying from his feet, onto Arthur’s lap. It pushed Arthur to the side knocking his grip from the wheel. It spun frantically, hitting Arthur’s knee with a crack and then _they_ were spinning and the ground was ahead and Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s jacket and held on while they crashed hard enough to knock Arthur’s teeth together and buck him up out of his seat. The aircraft bounced after the first impact, nearly throwing them both into the air, before it landed again, Merlin’s bony elbows winding Arthur soundly before Arthur lost his grip and he was thrown off to the side as they spun sharply, earth flying into the air in an arc around them, before they careened to a stop.

Smoke and dust swirled in a heavy cloud. Arthur coughed and waved his hands in the air around his face. “Merlin?” He looked around, sitting up in his seat when he couldn’t see him nearby. “Merlin!” 

Merlin popped out of the rubble, dirt colouring his hair and face. He blinked owlishly at Arthur for a moment before he looked around, the flyer strewn in smoking pieces around them, the long trail of turned up earth, the huge scrape in the castle’s side, gears hanging loose, and Merlin began to laugh. “I thought you were a trained pilot!” he gasped out between peals.

Arthur spat dirt from his mouth before he could respond. “I am a –! I’d like to see you do any better!” Arthur wanted to be insulted, but when his retort just made Merlin howl, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing along. 

Gwen burst out of the castle’s door onto the landing. Standing above them, leaning over the railing with the wind whipping through her hair, she stared at the wreckage of the flyer, with Merlin and Arthur sprawled in the midst of it, eyes closed as they laughed until they were gasping with it.

“What is _wrong_ with the two of you?” she yelled down at them. It just made them laugh the harder.


	11. which includes conversations and discoveries of all kinds

“So, this here is supposed to be connected to the… rotor.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder and down to where Gwen was kneeling on the ground, her navy skirts in a pool around her, and the pieces of his flyer arrayed in front of her. There was grease and grass stains on her dress, and her heels and fine white gloves were strewn about her in the grass. He was suspended between ropes on a narrow swing twenty feet off the ground, up under the castle, just under the damage done in the castle’s side from their collision, tools arranged on the wooden seat beside him. 

“No, that’s –”

“Don’t tell me!” she cried. She leaned over the pieces in front of her, edging forward to look at the flyer’s body and then fell back onto one hand, her hat falling off her curls and she leaned back to look up at him, the piece held aloft. 

“It’s the steering column!” she called out, grinning. Arthur laughed, nodding. “Ha!” she exclaimed, turning back to the flyer, ignoring her fallen hat to poke at the flyer and mutter.

Arthur pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, wiping his forehead with his sleeve and blinking sweat from his eyes as he looked up at the mending he’d done on the castle. The heat covering Camelot had reached its peak, it seemed. Even in the shadow under the stationary castle, the heat and humidity clung like a weight. Arthur tried to ignore it as he surveyed his work: all the gears and moving parts were nearly covered, though it would carry the scar of their impact unless he could get better tools than what Gwen had collected, her fascination in her father’s craft lasting for years, though her education had stopped with his death. With Arthur’s permission, she had taken to repairing his flyer enthusiastically. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur looked down to see Merlin step off the stairs, wandering closer as Gwen fit pieces of the flyer together, bolting them in securely. He took in the flyer, and then looked around them, searching for something. 

“Fixing it!” she grinned at him. Arthur looked down at them and could see Merlin smile back even as he shook his head slowly.

“Does Arthur know you’re doing that?” He glanced around again; for him, Arthur realized. 

“She’s doing fine,” Arthur called down. He laughed when Merlin jumped and looked over his shoulder to each side before looking up and finding Arthur above him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, incredulous.

“Fixing it.” Arthur’s grin was teasing. 

“If you fall from there, I am not magicking you back together,” Merlin threatened. “And stop corrupting my assistant. Last thing I need is for Gwen to start ripping the castle apart like you do.”

“There _was_ a boot in the gears, Merlin,” Gwen noted, without looking up from the flyer. Merlin looked up at Arthur accusingly, pointing at Gwen’s back. 

“You’ll need someone to keep this heap of gears in one piece once I leave.” Arthur turned back to the castle as he spoke, lowering his goggles back over his eyes as he hammered in one last strip. Merlin didn’t respond until he was finished, and lowering his swing back down to the ground. 

“Gaius sent a message,” he said, once Arthur’s feet were on the ground and he was swinging the rope off his make-shift pulley. “He’s going to come through with Lancelot to bring you news from Camelot in an hour.”

“Lancelot is coming?” Gwen asked, alert. Arthur looked from her to Merlin, bemused.

“Are you going to get prettied up?” Merlin teased.

Gwen flushed, but tilted her head from side to side as she considered it; the flyer won out for her interest. Arthur opened his mouth to ask, but she was enthralled again in the flyer, so he put the question of when, exactly, she had met his knight aside for later. He found he couldn't worry on it too much; the dry heat pulled on his attention. Arthur looked up, eyeing the joints and piping speculatively.

“Don’t look at my castle that way,” Merlin said to him.

“Which way?”

“Like you’re going to _fix_ it.”

“It’s not a dirty word, Merlin. You should be thankful I’m helping you out.”

Merlin rolled his eyes so enthusiastically Arthur thought he’d strain something. “You broke in,” Merlin reminded him. “The only person who should be grateful is you, that I don’t leave you here and get Kilgharrah to run the castle away.”

“Like _you_ could outrun me.”

“It’s too hot to run,” Gwen interjected absently.

“It is _bloody hot_ ,” Arthur agreed. At least up on the swing there had been the promise of a breeze, a slight stirring of air. 

“That’s why I came out here, actually. We should go cool off before they get here.”

“You two have fun,” Gwen said, distracted. 

“We’ll be back before Gaius comes through,” Merlin promised, grabbing Arthur’s sleeve and tugging him along as Gwen hummed in agreement.

“Do I get a say in this?” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked back over his shoulder as they left Gwen behind, nose wrinkled in mock-consideration. “Not really.” 

“I’m a king, you know,” Arthur griped. He followed Merlin regardless, as they headed out into the Wastes. He did begin to grumble as they left the shade, and it felt even _hotter_ , but Merlin led the way down a narrow path in the tall grasses and ignored him until Arthur grew bored of his own complaining. “How, exactly, does she know my knight?” he asked, instead. 

Merlin laughed. “Remember her beau in the city?”

“ _My_ city? Wait, _my knight_?” Merlin just laughed again in response, and Arthur sulked. “No wonder he was keeping you a secret, if Gwen has stolen his heart.”

“I thought that was my vice,” Merlin said, looking over his shoulder at Arthur and smiling. Arthur’s mouth opened, but his mind blanked on a response. He still hadn’t thought of one when Merlin had looked away, keeping his gaze on the uneven trail they were following. 

The silence hung between them, but was comfortable even as the castles faded away behind them. The grass was nearly shoulder height on either side, and it itched and tickled Arthur’s arms where it leaned into the path and whispered along his skin. Merlin reached out and dragged his fingertips along, bending the grasses in a wave the rippled out from him as he passed, Arthur following in his wake.

The grass was tall enough, and the landscape blocked by hills, and Arthur only noticed that they were entering a copse of trees as they reach the small pines. 

“Are we still in the Wastes?” Arthur asked, looking up at them.

“Right in the middle,” Merlin confirmed, excited. Arthur hurried to keep up as Merlin picked up his pace eagerly. The trees were bigger and taller the longer they walked through them, their shade cooling the day. A bird flitted over the path ahead of them, into the underbrush, and Arthur started. It was the first hint of life he’d seen in the Wastes. Now that he was listening for it, he could hear birdsong all around them, could hear the chatter of an angry squirrel somewhere close.

The path turned, and Arthur saw hints of bright light through the trees ahead. The path opened up into a clearing before a small, deep blue lake. Sunlight reflected off the water and Arthur could see a pair of ducks in the rushes along the side. He looked from the lake to Merlin, returning his smile.

“I thought the Wastes were desolate,” he said.

Merlin shrugged, already tugging his boots off. One of them got stuck and he had to hop in a circle, trying to keep his balance as the wrestled with it. “Hurry up!” he said, pulling his pant legs up as he walked towards the water and splashed in. That sound was enough to motivate Arthur. Making quick work of his own boots, he followed Merlin into the water. It was a deep chill, and Arthur felt goosebumps rise on his legs as the water lapped around his ankles and calves. Merlin was well ahead, the bottom folds of his pants already wet as he wandered deeper. He leaned to one side to drag his hands through the water, dripping it down his arms.

Arthur considered it for only a moment. He walked slowly trying to keep his movements quiet as he walked deeper into the water. Something about the silence alerted Merlin, and he looked back suspiciously. 

“Don’t even –” he started, but Arthur wouldn’t be deterred. Giving up on stealth, he ran forward, water splashing out before his feet in wide arches through the sun.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted, as Arthur tacked him at the waist and he fell backwards, arms windmilling and his face submerging, the last half of Arthur’s name just an outraged gargle.

He ran before Merlin could right himself. His outraged shouting and splashing as he gave chase echoed across the water, absorbed by the trees around their small clearing.

 

The afternoon sun was directly overhead when they finally emerged from the water, exhausted and spluttering, they had left the water and collapsed on the grass in a spot of sunlight. They had shed most of their layers, jackets and waistcoats laid out to dry in the sun. Merlin had gotten over his outrage quickly enough to start a splash-war that had only ended when Arthur managed to grab hold of Merlin and dunk his head firmly beneath the lake’s surface. Merlin, sputtering, had magicked the water into attacking with concentrated jets, no matter how Arthur tried to dodge them and he finally surrendered, eyes squeezed shut and laughing through the onslaught. 

Arthur lay on his back, starfished out. Merlin sat beside him, legs outstretched and his head tipped back to let the sun fall squarely on his face. 

His eyes were closed against the light, and a small smile played about his lips, never really leaving as he thought private things. Arthur turned his head away, looking out over the water, watching the trees ripple in the light breeze.

“Is this really the Wastes?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded. “I found the spring here, when I left Camelot.” He smiled softly. Arthur watched the turn of his lips in profile, Merlin looking out over the water.

“You brought all this back to life,” Arthur realized. It came to him in a flash of realization, and perhaps if it hadn’t come to him so quickly, he would have rejected the idea. With it said aloud, the truth of it was clear; all the things he had seen Merlin do with his magic were inherently good. Why wouldn’t ha find a way to have magic make something as beautiful as this? Merlin leaned to the side, away from Arthur, picking individual strands of grass with his narrow fingers. Arthur returned his gaze to Merlin’s face. 

“All of the Wastes used to be beautiful, like this. Before the Purge. Before this war.” He let the blades of grass fall from his fingertips and looked out over the water. “It’s spreading, you know. If someone doesn’t do something, the anger created by this war on magic will drag all of the life out of Albion.” 

“Not magic?” Arthur asked, because he had always been told that it was sorcerers who had destroyed Camelot, and created the Wastes, but there was no argument in his tone.

“Not only magic,” Merlin replied, holding his hand out and allowing a butterfly free. “It always takes anger, and hatred, to truly destroy something. No matter the weapons you wield. Your knights are coming. We should get back.”

Merlin stood, and held out a hand to help Arthur. Pulled to his feet, he stepped forward to get his balance, a hand reaching out to touch Merlin’s elbow to steady himself. They stood close for a second, Arthur looking up to find that they were of a height – though Merlin so often made himself look smaller – before Merlin cleared his throat and stepped back, cheeks flushed with the sun. He started along the path, leaving Arthur behind for a moment. He looked out over the water, at the beauty magic had made and reconsidered. 

Then Merlin called his name, and Arthur followed him towards the castle.

They walked back along the path, the heat quickly drying their hair and clothes. When they made it back to the castle, they could hear voices from the open window; the knights had already arrived.

“Kilgharrah thinks he’s figured out how to make it so that they’ll be able to see you while you’re inside,” Merlin said as they climbed the stairs. 

Arthur sighed angrily. “Oh, now he’s figured that out.” Merlin wrinkled his nose at him, chagrined and apologetic at the unhelpfulness of his fire. Arthur let it go as they climbed the stairs. Even through his irritation, he was hit by a wave of relief. He hadn’t gone so long without their council and friendship since he became king. Arthur followed Merlin up the stairs, grinning widely as Lancelot and Elyan stood up from their seats at the table, leaving Gwen and Gaius behind as they stepped forward.

Merlin, first through the door, was greeted warmly by both the knights. Arthur made a face at Elyan, confused. He knew Lancelot had been hiding his connection to the wizard, but Elyan?

“I've known Merlin for years," he confessed. "Gwen’s my sister.” 

He couldn’t even be surprised, and just rolled his eyes. "Of course she is. And you," he said to Lancelot. 

"Not my sister," he replied.

"I should hope not," Merlin muttered from behind them. He jumped when Gwen smacked him about the shoulder. 

“Is this an end to the secrets?" he asked, looking about the room. Elyan and Lancelot nodded seriously, Gwen just shrugged innocently and Merlin avoided his gaze altogether by staring into the hearth's fire. Arthur looked back to his knights and relaxed, grinning. “You have no idea how glad I am you’re here,” he said, clapping Lancelot’s shoulder, and holding the other hand to Elyan. His knight clasped his forearm firmly, smiling all the while.

“It is good to see you, Sire.”

“What. ‘Sire’?” The three of them turned to look at Gwen. She stood on the other side of the table, her head tilted and brow furrowed. 

“Gwen,” Lancelot said, “this is Arthur, King of Camelot.”

Her lips parted and she froze. She looked from Lancelot to her brother, and then back at Arthur. “You want me to believe that the king has been staying in Merlin’s moving castle,” she said incredulously. “That he’s been here while we handed out potions and spells and he was invisible and I never did ask Kilgharrah why he wanted him in the castle, and oh god, I have been spending all this time talking to the king of Camelot – I wouldn’t have said those things if I knew who you _were_!” she said, speaking more rapidly and higher pitched as she went on. Elyan had covered his grin with a hand as soon as she started to panic. Lancelot was making soothing noises. 

“What did you think two knights of Camelot were here for?” Merlin asked.

“Don’t you start,” she said, pointing at him. “You could have told me!” Merlin’s mouth fell open and he took a step back, hands held out in a shrug, as if he had no idea why _he_ was in trouble in all this. Elyan was openly laughing now, delighted at how the meeting had devolved into utter chaos. Arthur put a hand to his forehead and sighed, trying not to feel _fond_ , of all things. These were the people he surrounded himself with. He honestly didn’t know anymore. Gwen gasped, and turned her pointing finger to Arthur. He suddenly understood Merlin’s impulse to retreat. “I saw you half naked! Kings aren’t supposed to run around without their shirts!”

Lancelot actually _tutted_ at him, disappointed in Arthur’s lapse of dignity. Merlin went so vividly red, so rapidly that Arthur was legitimately concerned for his bloodflow, and Gwen’s blush once she reviewed what she had just said matched his beautifully. Elyan turned his back on them, fist over his mouth as his shoulders shook.

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but was luckily saved in the next moment from actually thinking of something to say as Gaius cleared his throat. “If we could,” he said, gesturing at the table. Everyone fell around it eagerly, avoiding each other’s gazes. Lancelot and Gwen both elbowed Elyan sharply as one motion, and he made an effort to control his entertainment at their expense. They moved toward the table, where they’d spread a map of Camelot. 

"Any news from our borders?" Arthur asked first. 

"All quiet," Lancelot replied. He stood close to the still-blushing Gwen, running a hand down her arm to rest just below her elbow until she lost her embarrassed tension. Setting all the chairs but Gaius’s aside, they crowded around the table, and the map of the city that had been spread there. 

"Even the north?" Arthur asked, surprised. There had been movement in Cenred's kingdom on their borders since Uther's death the previous year.

"Our spies think he has some unrest of his own keeping him occupied," Elyan replied. "Hopefully enough to keep his greedy eyes - and troops - away from us for another summer."

Arthur nodded, tentatively relieved. “Get those reports. Make sure he's not doing anything clever. Now, what has been happening in Camelot?” Arthur asked.

“We’ve assigned trusted men to follow Agravaine throughout the castle,” Lancelot said.

“He’s been issuing orders,” Elyan contributed. “Never to one of us, not directly. He sends one of the two sorcerers who chased you with messages to the division captains directly. Said they were captains brought in from his estates."

"I've taken certain measures," Gaius said. "They don't know I have any knowledge of their true identities. I can get a sleeping draught in their meals to make sure they can do no damage, when it is time to act."

Arthur nodded, pleased. He didn't want to have to contend with their magic as well as Agravaine's treachery, when the curse was broken. Speaking of Agravaine... “You said he’s been issuing orders? What have they been?”

Lancelot and Elyan started to report. There was so much shifting and reassignment of patrols and divisions that Gwen had to dig pins and coloured wax from a drawer for them to keep it straight. As Lancelot and Elyan went through all of the orders they had intercepted from Agravaine, Merlin and Gwen leaned over the table, pins held loosely in their palms while they marked off the movements across Arthur’s kingdom.

Arthur felt a sinking feeling of dread as he watched the patterns become clear. He looked up and met each of his knights’ gazes, seeing the dawning comprehension of Morgana’s plan – and Agravaine’s role in it – become clear. As the last pins were placed, they looked at the map in silence. 

Finally, Merlin spoke up, solemnly asking: “What has he done?” He rested a hand on Arthur’s arm, below the elbow. 

It took Arthur a moment before he could share his uncle’s betrayal. “He has moved all of our knights away from the city,” he said. He looked up and met Merlin’s stare. “Camelot is defenseless.”


	12. in which war rises in the north

Arthur had laid the dragon-forged blade on the table. He had a small container of oil and a polishing cloth along with a sharpening stone, but they were unused. The sword, despite all the years of neglect, was in perfect repair, the blade sharp enough to cut with even a feather-light touch. Arthur admired the shine of it, a golden glow that seemed to shimmer from within the blade, instead of being reflected. 

Gwen moved around the room, and though it was only her and Arthur left in the castle, Arthur didn’t turn away from the table to talk to her. Their easy camaraderie – built over the flyer repairs, and Arthur’s constant presence, and the truly unfathomable depths of their shared exasperation with Merlin and Kilgharrah both –was gone. Arthur was used to the way Gwen was acting around him – people were more often uncomfortable in his presence than not – but they had been building a friendship that had felt every bit as real as his with any of his knights and the loss of it, when he was still trapped in Merlin’s castle, tugged at him. His knights, Gaius and Merlin had returned to Camelot quickly after their news. The knights had to get news to the patrols Agravaine had scattered throughout the kingdom, and bring the defenses back to Camelot. Merlin and Gaius were planning to research the Cup, to find some way to counteract it, if Morgana were to use it against them. The need to act was desperately urgent, and Arthur still useless to them. He sighed, gaze tracking back towards the door. They were doing all they could to keep Camelot safe, and Arthur was left sitting on his hands. Useless.

“Arthur,” Gwen said, hesitantly. Arthur looked back at her. She wore a small white hat, the bow matching the ribbon high on the collar of her navy dress. She held a lacy parasol that she turned awkwardly over between her hands. She was ready to leave the castle, on one of her many errands, and Arthur wondered if it was knowing his true status that made her hesitant to leave him alone, or without proper notice. She pulled at the jacket she wore over her dress, fiddling with the belt that held it closed at her waist. “I was wondering… would you come to Essetir with me? There are things I need to pick up.” 

He looked towards the door. “I shouldn’t. If there is any news…”

“You said yourself that Morgana has no army, right?” she asked. Arthur nodded reluctantly. “Without an army, the Cup cannot be used as a weapon, so there’s no good sitting here worrying. You’ve been cooped up, staring at the door, for nearly two days. Merlin and Gaius are researching, the knights are keeping an eye on your uncle, and they will send word if there is any change. Come, keep me company.” 

She sounded more like herself with every word and Arthur couldn’t help but obey. “I’m going to end up carrying your bags, aren’t I?” he asked.

Gwen just smiled, which answered his question succinctly. Arthur sighed loudly, but he pushed himself up from the table and followed her to the door. She turned the dial to purple, and they stepped out onto a narrow street. The buildings in Essetir were taller, built closer together than in Nemeth or Camelot and the way they blocked the sky and crowded in on the curving road made Arthur feel cramped. Luckily, the street was empty of foot traffic because the narrow streets would have made passing horses tricky, and a wagon into a tactical nightmare. He and Gwen walked towards the shops without him having to worry about being walked into, or hit by a passing rider. 

The silence between them was strained as he waited for Gwen to speak. “I never would have criticized the laws if I had known you were –” she hastened to say, but Arthur cut her off.

“You should. You were right, and you should have been able to say it, regardless of who I am.” He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “My father was so _sure_ of what magic was, what the people who practiced it were… sometimes I can’t see past all the things he told me were true. I thought it was enough to look away, as long as it wasn’t hurting me or mine, but I see now that it isn’t.” He stopped her, tugging her elbow gently to have her face him. “Gwen, I promise you that it’s going to change. Now that I know the injustices your family has faced, and the truth of the Wastes, and the good magic can do, I won’t let Camelot continue to tear itself apart. I promise, Gwen. I’ll make this right.”

Gwen smiled up at him, eyes a little wide. “I believe you. Wow.” Gwen slipped a hand onto his elbow, smiling up at him as she led them along the street, just as she had on their last walk outside the castle. Arthur sighed away the last of his tension. “So that’s what drew Merlin into all of this.”

“What?”

She looked at him side-long, one eyebrow raised. “He swore he would never get involved in either side, and now look at him… breaking into Camelot, stealing magic swords and military flyers, running off with the King. It’s almost like he’s chosen your side, Arthur.”

He shook his head. It wasn’t like that; Merlin was just _stuck_ with him, for now. Once the curse was broken, Arthur would be gone and… and no matter the promises he made now, he thought that Merlin and Gwen would disappear. He thought of the door in Gaius’s chamber leading to storage or a spare room and his lips twisted, he scratched at the side of his neck. 

Merlin hadn’t chosen his side, was what he was trying to articulate, even to himself. Merlin had been pulled from his life by Arthur’s war with Morgana, with magic. Arthur didn’t want to be the person to force Merlin into all of this. He opened his mouth to try and explain the sadness that gathered heavy in his stomach at the thought of Merlin using the magic he rebuilt the Wastes with – made _butterflies_ with – to destroy, against his will, when he heard a familiar drone. He looked up at the sky, mouth still open as he waited for the flyer to pass overhead, to come in view over the two-story apartments lining the street. He tilted his head, listening. That was too loud to be a patrol flight. 

They had drifted apart as Arthur stopped, staring at the sky. Gwen was standing at a shop window, looking inside, and he stepped close to her. She pulled on the door and her brow furrowed as she tried it a second time. 

“It’s locked,” she said. She looked up and down the street. “Arthur… the shops are all closed.” Arthur reached out for Gwen’s elbow, holding her gently but pulling her through the street at a quick pace. He looked down side-streets as they passed them, all of them empty, all the shops closed. The drone of propellers above them was louder, growing closer. Arthur could hear a steady whoosh that could only be the flapping wings of war machines and he _had to know_. Gwen grabbed his sleeve, staring off down the street, listening carefully. Arthur heard it then, too, above the sound of the flyers was a different kind of drone; that of a crowd gathered. Gwen huffed a sigh that hitched into a relieved laugh at the end; the emptiness of the streets so much less sinister, now that they knew the people were _somewhere_. 

“I suppose there’s no reason to wait,” Gwen said, looking around. “Maybe Kilgharrah will take the castle close to Caerleon… there’s a small town near the Wastes that might have what we need.” Arthur looked to the sky. 

“Let’s see what this is, first,” he said. Gwen looked up at him, her relief sharpening back into concern. She didn’t protest. The streets were steep, and they climbed one winding alley at an uncomfortable pace, given the grade. Gwen, reading Arthur’s mood, tried her best to keep up as Arthur tried to calm his worry and his strides. Making their way towards the sounds of a crowd, they soon saw the groupings of people as they reached the center of the city, and the main road that ran through it. People were chattering between themselves, craning to see over the heads of those in front of them. Their attention was fixed on the road, but Gwen and Arthur couldn’t see what was happening through the press of people. A trio of old men sat in metal chairs with ale in front of them, all three with drawn faces turned to the sky. They were old airmen, had the look, and they heard what Arthur heard. Arthur quickened their pace. Unapologetic, Gwen pushed their way through the gatherings of people until they reached the stairs leading up onto the bridge. As they reached the top, standing pressed against the railing, their view of the sky finally clearer, without the close, tall buildings blocking the sky.

Arthur wished he had been wrong. 

Airships flew overhead in military formations. This was no mere parade, entertainment for the people or training for the soldiers, this was a nation going to war, and Arthur knew exactly where they were heading. South, into Camelot.

Where his uncle had cleared the way for them.

“Morgana’s working with Cenred,” he said, voice harsh and angry. He tried to count the war balloons and flyers as they passed overhead, tried to guess at numbers. His knights would need to know what to prepare for. Perhaps they had managed to get Arthur’s orders to enough of the patrols Agravaine had dispersed into the wilds of the Camelot countryside, since his talk with Lancelot and Elyan the night before. Perhaps reinforcements were on their way back to Camelot. If there was a miracle, they would get there in time. “All this time, she’s been planning to bring war to Camelot. But why? What does it serve her, or Agravaine, to have –”

“Arthur.”

He looked to Gwen, and then followed her gaze to the street below the bridge. Only then did he realize that the attention of the people gathered was divided; they hadn’t shown up to watch the airships overhead, not when Cenred’s army walked the street below, stretching out as far as they could see in either direction. 

“There’s something wrong with them,” Gwen whispered, pointing to the groups of soldiers leading each battalion. They weren’t dressed in Essetir purple and silver, but in matte black armour. Arthur looked again, closer, and could see that she was right. They marched perfectly in step, so that their feet falling thumped out a regular heart-beat that echoed through the street. Arthur had never seen an army so in sync, nor one whose soldiers’ faces were so completely without expression. Not one man dressed in black turned his head to look at the citizens standing to the side of the streets, or to accept the tokens or flowers ladies offered as they passed. Arthur could see that the regular soldiers were white with fear. On those closest, there was the sheen of sweat on their brows.

The people who had gathered were beginning to notice, too, and backed away from the street’s edge, the excited buzz of the crowd dying down in a ripple away from the marching until all Arthur could hear was the footsteps and the ships overhead, in their steady approach onto his people. “What is wrong with them?” Gwen asked, pale and wide-eyed, and Arthur _knew_ , he knew what it had to be, to drain the _life_ from these men.

“Morgana’s used the Cup. She’s found her army after all.”

Gwen’s mouth fell open, and she looked out over the army, up to the sky. She swallowed nervously. “How long will it take them to get to Camelot?”

Arthur took a breath. “Can you run?” 

Gwen nodded resolutely and grabbed at her skirts, dropping her parasol. “Go,” she ordered. “I’ll keep up.”

They pushed through the crowd. Gwen’s parasol caught the breeze blowing over the bridge and flew ahead, turning in circles until it was lifted over the bridge’s railing and fell to the street below. It was trampled underfoot by soldiers.

Arthur thought of the last time he had run through a city, with Merlin ahead of him and his own safety hanging over his head. He hadn’t felt this, then, this steady pounding in his head or the flutter of panic in his chest. He looked over his shoulder as he reached a small break in the crowd, dodging a cart whose owner stood staring at the sky. Gwen was as good as her word; she would not be left behind. 

Arthur ran on.

Once they were in the empty streets, Arthur picked up the pace, listening to Gwen’s stride behind him to make sure he didn’t leave her behind. The beat of the army’s march and the sound of the ships overhead didn’t fade away. They didn’t have much time, not enough time for Leon to reverse the damage Agravaine had done with his orders. An army led by Immortal soldiers, that didn’t need to stop for meals or sleep, it could be in Camelot in a matter of _hours_ , with none of Camelot’s army in place to stand in its way.

 _If_ they could stop them. An army that couldn’t be killed, couldn’t be stopped. Arthur had to concentrate on his breath, on the next turn, he couldn’t think of the danger his people were in. He had to _act_ , now, to save them all. 

“Arthur!” Gwen called from behind him. She had stopped at a small two-story house that Arthur hadn’t recognized as the entrance to the castle, distracted by worry. She pulled open the door and led the way inside. Gwen ran up the stairs, taking two in each stride, Arthur right behind her. They skid across the floor at the top, panting in the relative silence of the castle, the creaks and whirling quiet after their mad rush and all those flyers overhead. 

The fire burned brighter, their hasty entrance gaining Kilgharrah’s attention.

“We have to get to Camelot,” Gwen panted. “We have to warn the knights, warn Gaius and Merlin –"

“Merlin returned from Camelot a short time ago," Kilgharrah said, "And left again not long after."

"Where?" Gwen cried out, but Arthur knew there was no _time_.

“I need to break this curse,” Arthur said, striding to Kilgharrah’s hearth. “You need to do it _now_.”

"You _could _have had it removed so long ago, had you acted as I suggested,” he directed at Arthur, his tone reproachful. Arthur had had enough.__

__“Where is Merlin?” Arthur asked him, sharply._ _

__“I don’t know where Merlin goes when he leaves the –”_ _

__“Enough!” Arthur snapped. “You want Merlin to fulfill this _destiny_ , you want to try and manipulate me into helping you do that, you can do that later. Right now, my kingdom is in danger and that comes before _you_ , always. Tell me where he _is_. You say you’re a servant of Albion, that I have some kind of destiny? Then stop trying to trick us into doing what you want with your cryptic riddles and just _help_.”_ _

__The fire crackled. “He turned the dial to black and went through,” Kilgharrah said finally. “I do not know where the door leads.”_ _

__Merlin could be anywhere between Essetir and Camelot, in the path of Morgana and her army. Stupid, skinny Merlin whose only defence were his colic potions and charms for seafarers. Brave, grinning Merlin who brought life back to the Wastes, who risked his life to save Arthur’s because he knew what was _right_ and wasn’t afraid to fight for it. Arthur couldn’t leave him unwarned. Arthur took a deep breath. “Go to Camelot,” he said to Gwen. “Warn the knights. Tell Lancelot and Elyan… tell them to do what they need to do, to get control of the city. Arrest my uncle, if they need to, but they need to get the defences _up_ and they need to do it now. Tell Gaius that he needs to find a way to break the spell. If Morgana’s been planning this attack all along, and using Agravaine to do it, she’ll be coming to Camelot.”_ _

__Gwen was already hurrying to the door as he spoke, her expression resolute. She turned the dial and the arrow spun and clicked to a halt on red. She paused, hand on the door handle, looked back at him, her determination and promise clear in her face, not needing words._ _

__He nodded._ _

__She pulled the door open and went through to Gaius’s chambers. The door closed behind her, and Arthur stepped forward himself, gripping the dial._ _

__“Don’t leave him behind,” Kilgharrah said. “He can help, more than you know.”_ _

__“I don’t want him to help,” Arthur replied. “I just need him to be safe.” He spun the dial, watched as it circled around to black. Then, without even a breath to steady him, he opened the door and rushed through._ _


	13. in which Arthur turns the dial to black

Arthur walked into an empty field in twilight. There was silence all around him, weighted in its entirety as his footsteps kicked up ash. These were the remnants of what was once forested land, all that was left in the worst of the Wastes in the aftermath of magical warfare. There was a natural spring nearby, but the creek or lake it had once fed was gone, clogged and rotting.

He exhaled and watched his breath fog out ahead of him. The chill in the air raised goosebumps on his arms and neck. He turned as he scanned the hills surrounding him, stopping dead when he looked behind him to see the door was gone. There was only more empty fields and bruised horizons. He shifted his weight, unsure. 

He hadn’t expected to have to search for Merlin when he stepped through the secret dial. Regardless, he couldn’t lead his people to battle when they couldn’t see him. Camelot needed him now. They needed him to wield the sword against the Immortal army, to organize their defences. He trusted his knights, but _he_ was their king. To be any use at all, he needed the curse broken and he needed it broken _now_. And despite everything, Merlin was still his best chance. 

Then, he saw a figure in the distance through the mist of his breath, standing in the shadows of a hill. Arthur started out towards them. His pace quickened as the stranger turned and Arthur recognized Merlin’s profile. “Merlin!” he called out, but Merlin didn’t turn. “Merlin!”

He slowed, stopping as he reached Merlin. He hadn't acknowledged Arthur at all. Merlin looked around at the hills around them, fingers twisting together in front of him. It looked like he was waiting for something he wasn’t particularly keen on happening. Arthur circled Merlin slowly until he stood in front of him. Merlin still didn’t look at him. 

It was hard to breathe steadily through his panic. His throat closed and his chest felt compressed as he realized Merlin couldn’t see him. _Merlin_ couldn’t see him. His hope for fixing this, for saving his kingdom, felt cut out from under him. He stood there, staring as Merlin ignored him and he tried to breathe. He shook his head, mouth forming the beginning of Merlin’s name without the strength to say it aloud.

“Merlin,” Morgana said. Both Arthur and Merlin snapped their attention to where she had appeared, as if from the hills themselves. Arthur threw out an arm instinctively, reaching to pull Merlin behind him and out of Morgana’s line of sight. He stumbled with the momentum when his hand passed through Merlin’s arm without resistance. 

He held his hand in front of his face and stared. This wasn’t – this wasn’t _right_. How could the curse have gotten so much worse in so little time? How did Merlin not see this coming? 

What was he doing, meeting Morgana in the Wastes? A thread of hurt lanced through the panic. Had Merlin been against him all the time they’d spent together?

Arthur forced himself to concentrate through the haze of his panic and paused. Morgana looked different... and yet painfully familiar. Her hair was in soft, glossy curls over her shoulders, falling out from under the velvet of her hood. Gone were the tangles of hair that wreathed her face like a shroud. Gone were the black dresses that cloaked her in shadows. Her dress beneath her hooded cape was brightly coloured, jewel-green and adorned with gold. Arthur recognized it, remembered it from before her magic was revealed. It was one of the few that went missing when she’d fled Camelot as the feast they’d been attending dissolved into panic. 

He turned back to Merlin, really looking, and could see the changes in him as well. The prominence of his cheekbones, the skinny, coltish limbs and wider, younger eyes. This was not the Merlin he knew, just as Morgana was not the woman the last few years had made of her.

The black dial, Arthur realized. It wasn’t a matter of _where_ it led, but _when_. 

“Morgana, are – are you all right?” Merlin asked, brows drawn down in concern. Arthur turned his attention back to the conversation between the two of them. It must have taken place all those years ago. Merlin studied Morgana uncertainly. He watched as Morgana took an unsteady breath and squared her shoulders. She lifted her chin in imitation of their father at his most willful.

She always imitated Uther when she was afraid.

“Of course I’m all right,” she said. “This is what I needed: to _know_ that Uther will never see reason, or allow himself to admit the horror of what he is doing. Don’t you _see_ , Merlin? Now, I’m free to stand against him, as we must. I’ve been gathering magic users to fight. I’ve been gathering objects of power.”

Merlin met her intent gaze furtively, looking away over the Wastes in nervous glances. “I’ve heard,” he said. “Morgana… I’ve been hearing stories since you left. From the villagers you’ve attacked with magic. From the druids you’ve stolen power from. People are _afraid_. Uther is afraid. Camelot is being torn apart by it.”

“Let them tear themselves to shreds.” Morgana’s voice was cold.

Merlin rocked his weight, as if stopping himself from backing away from her. “How is this going to make anything better? How is making people more afraid of magic going to change their minds? ”

“If they’re not with us, they are on Uther’s side. They will face the consequences of siding with him.”

“So your answer is to kill innocent people –”

“I’ll kill everyone if it means Camelot is mine!”

The silence between them carried, spreading out over the Wastes in waves.

“Don’t you see? Merlin, don’t you see? This is our chance. To live without fear. They are never going to give this to us!” The fling of her arm encompassed everything outside their conversation, would swallow the world. “This is the only way to stop what Uther has wrought. I will bring peace to our people when I take Camelot. You’ll see. This is what we're meant to do.”

The shake of Merlin’s head was jerky and unsteady. “I’m not going to help you,” he whispered.

Morgana stared, lips parted and eyes shining with unshed tears. She looked away, getting her feelings under control, biting her lip hard. “You’ll betray us all. You'll choose Uther’s side.”

“No,” he protested. “I’m not choosing _any_ side.”

“You’re going to listen to Kilgharrah’s manipulative schemings,” she accused. “You’re going to stand behind Uther and Arthur while they murder our kind. As if our peace will come through hope alone–”

“I’m not going to help Uther! But Morgana, I can’t help you either. Not if you’re asking me to hurt people. I don’t want this. I don’t want to fight for you when–”

“If you won’t fight for our freedom, you are helping him kill us!”

“You’re the one killing us! Gods, Morgana, you’re just as bad as he is! Look around you! Look what you’ve done!” He gestured at the dead expanse of the Wastes, the ash the trees had rotten into, the churlish bracken of the spring at their feet.

“This is Uther’s doing.”

Merlin shook his head. “No.”

“This was Uther!” she screamed, making Merlin startle and step back from her. 

She breathed. “You will help me, Merlin,” she said, her voice frighteningly calm in contrast. “There is no middle ground. Do you think that old lizard will ever give up? He will make you choose Uther’s side, unless you choose mine. So choose mine, Merlin. Or I will destroy you, and all you hold dear.” She held out an arm, palm facing Merlin, her opposite shoulder tilting back away from him. Arthur took a step forward, and then back again as the tension between the two of them crackled.

“Morgana –” Merlin began, his arms by his sides, fingers spread in supplication. Her hissed curse cut him off. There was a bright flash of white and lightning shot between the two of them in jagged streaks. 

He didn’t have time to bring up his hands, and Arthur shouted out, but it didn’t matter. The lightning streamed around him and disappeared with a crash of collapsed, burnt air. Morgana shrieked and pushed her outstretched hand forward in a tight jab. Merlin stumbled back a step, but his balance held. He mimicked the motion and Morgana flew off her feet. From the ground, she snarled words Arthur didn’t know. Her eyes glowed in the near-darkness. The ash around her rose, compressing into arrows that loosed at Merlin – and Arthur. 

Arthur stumbled back, forgetting in the panic of the moment that they would pass right through him. Morgana stood yelling, wind whipping around her head. Merlin stared at her sadly, arm outstretched and trembling. Arthur realized for the first time that the tremors in Merlin’s hands, and the paleness of his face were not fear. They were remorse. Morgana threw another curse, which deflected around Merlin like waves breaking on a rock at sea. Merlin was fighting her and _winning._

There was mist rising around Arthur, already waist-high when he noticed it. He struggled to see through it as it thickened. Tendrils rose around his neck and face, growing thicker by the second. Arthur had to know how the fright ended!

There was a last burst of magic, and Arthur could see that Merlin was alone in the Wastes. There was silence in the purple twilight, the fight between Merlin and Morgana over. Arthur didn’t need to check to know that Merlin had won, and had allowed her to flee. The mist was getting heavier, luminescent in its thickness. Arthur closed his eyes as it circled in around his face….

When he opened his eyes, Merlin was gone. Instead of twilight, he was surrounded by the deep darkness of just before dawn. As his eyes adjusted, Arthur could see the shadow of something huge before him. Was he in the shadows of some city? He moved forward cautiously. As he drew closer, the shape became familiar. It wasn’t a city; it was Merlin’s castle.

But what had happened to it? Pieces were strewn around the Wastes. Its legs were no longer attached, and pieces of the hull were missing, creating cavernous holes in the helm. It lay in the ashes, desiccated and empty of life.

“No,” Arthur gasped out. “Merlin.”

He stumbled forward, losing his footing as he caught on pieces of metal strewn in the darkness. How had this happened? How long had he been trapped in memory? Merlin, what had happened to Merlin, and Gwen and Kilgharrah?

Had he been too late to warn Merlin? Was he too late to save Camelot?

Arthur saw a shadow of movement, a flicker of golden light and hurried toward it. There was someone there, kneeling in the shadow of the castle. As he got closer, he recognized Merlin. With a ragged breath of relief, he hurried to his side as magic erupted from Merlin’s hands. The golden light circled the pieces of castle. They rose in the air, zipping into configurations and beginning to form moving belts and gears and working parts. One zoomed towards Arthur’s head, and, before he could duck, passed straight through him.

This wasn’t the castle destroyed, he thought, relief making his knees weak. This was another memory.

Merlin, lit by his magic, was finishing the construction of his moving castle. He was still younger than the Merlin Arthur knew, but he had aged in countless hardships since the memory Arthur had just viewed. He was rail-thin and ailing, with hard lines along his eyes and mouth that spoke of relentless worrying. This was the Merlin who hid in Camelot following Morgana’s discovery. This was what Camelot’s renewed war on magic had done to him.

The magic emerging from Merlin’s hands was bright enough to illuminate the skeleton of the castle as it came together in groans and huge shifts of movement above them. But outside of that circle, the Wastes were impenetrable in their darkness. Hidden in that darkness, above their heads, there was a steady whoosh of air. It was enough that it buffeted Merlin’s hair and some of the gears moving through the air. Arthur searched the darkness in vain, unable to see through the inky black. The noise grew louder. The wind picked up until everything around the rocked in time with those steady flaps. Then, there was a thump that made the ground quake and the sound stopped.

“Young warlock,” a voice said from the darkness. “What are you doing?”

Arthur ducked instinctively at the sound. It was the rumble of thunder and heat beneath the earth. It was familiar, and terrifying, and unknown. Higher than he could reach an outstretched arm burned a orange light, like embers in a fire.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Merlin asked, throwing his magic out angrily. His voice was thick as if he were near tears. “Morgana makes war with Uther, and destroys everything she touches. Uther murders innocent people by the hundreds and there is nothing I can do. Magic is hunted. Where it is not destroyed, it is corrupted. And people are looking to _me_. I am expected to fix it, and I don’t know how! I tried, with Morgana, and it ended in me betraying her. It ended with her turning to darkness. Every side wants me to fight for them and I… I can’t.” He broke in a sob. “I can’t. I can’t save anyone. I don’t know what to do.”

“Your destiny-”

“I don't want to hear it!” Merlin interrupted, suddenly fierce. “I don’t want to hear about who else I have to betray, or hurt. I don’t want to hear about which side I am supposed to help kill the other. I. Am. Done.” All the pieces of castle were spinning ever faster, surrounding Merlin in a cyclone. They careened out of that circle of twisted metal to fit themselves into place in the castle. They moved so quickly they began to heat and glow a dull red-orange. Beyond them was a giant shadow that shifted as Merlin spoke. Arthur’s mouth went dry with fear as he strained to identify it.

“You cannot choose your destiny. And you cannot run from it –”

“I don’t want to hear about what I must and mustn’t do!” Merlin said, the magic moving faster with each word. “I’ve had enough! I don’t want to see you again!”

“Very well,” the voice said. There was a terrible unfurling of _something_ in the shadows. Those ember lights flew forwards as Merlin’s magic exploded. The castle flew into place so quickly Arthur could hear the pieces whistle through the air. _That thing_ went with them, disappearing into the bowels of the castle with a terrible shriek of metal.

Throwing himself back from that terrible shape, Arthur stumbled up against something. It gripped his arms and steadied him. 

“Arthur?” He pulled back as he turned, blinking in shock when he saw… Merlin. The memory of Merlin still knelt beneath his castle as magic roared around him, so... The Merlin holding his arms was _his_ Merlin, staring at him wide-eyed and confused. His eyes flicked to the scene behind Arthur then glowed golden. Past-Merlin, his castle, and that shape in the shadows faded away. They were left standing alone in an empty landscape.

“What is this place?” Arthur asked. He returned Merlin's grip, holding Merlin's arms tightly. Even though Merlin had been in every vision he’d had, it hadn’t been _this_ Merlin. His relief at seeing him again was enough that he wasn’t quite ready to let go. “What was that thing?”

“Memories,” Merlin answered the first question. “Times where I made choices that changed everything. Sometimes I think I could have stopped this. That maybe all the bad things that have happened weren’t meant to have happened. That if I made the right choices at these times, everything would be different. But no matter how many times I visit them, I can’t figure out what the right way was. I can’t see how to fix it.”

“Merlin, it’s not your fault,” Arthur argued. “These were choices Nimueh, and Morgana, and my father made. These were choices _I_ made. It’s not fair that you were expected to fix them.” He thought of Merlin, delirious and ill saying that all he was good at was running away. “I don’t blame you for running from all this,” he said. “We’ve made a mess of it.” 

For the first time, Arthur saw the cycle he had unthinkingly joined into, with his distrust and his hate. He would find a way to fix it. For Gwen and Elyan’s father, and for all the people Uther and Morgana had destroyed. For Merlin.

The thought of the mess they were in snapped Arthur’s attention back to his current problems. He forgot about the visions of memory as his kingdom’s plight returned to him. “Morgana and Cenred have an alliance,” he said in a rush. “He’s given her the army she needs. Gwen and I saw them marching, in Essetir. They’re going to attack Camelot.” Merlin was still holding Arthur by the elbow, his fingers digging in as his face paled at Arthur’s news.

“An entire army,” he breathed. 

“You have to break the curse on me!”

“I’ve been _trying_!” Merlin insisted, his expression open and afraid. “You think I would leave you like this if I could fix it, even to keep–? I’ve been trying since that first day, and I just _can’t_. Her curses are too strong.”

“Try again. No, Merlin, look at me. Try. Again."

Merlin shook his head. “She’s too good at them. She’s so angry.”

“You need to be angry to make a curse,” Arthur whispered, holding him close by the elbows. “You’re trying to reverse it, right? So cure me. You don’t need anger for that.” 

Merlin stared, breathing hard. Then his gaze flicked down and he surged forward. He pressed his lips to Arthur’s in a frantic, bewildering _wonderful_ kiss. Arthur staggered back two off-balance steps before he caught them. He blinked rapidly. His body delayed sending to his surprised brain the feeling of Merlin’s lips against his. The awkward press of teeth and soft skin and moist breath and – _oh_.

He brought his hands up to cradle the back of Merlin’s neck. His thumbs resting on the hinge of Merlin's jaw as Arthur parted his lips and tilted his head, returning the kiss. They pushed together, awkwardly slotted elbows and knees, trying to get as close as possible. Arthur tilted his chin down. He took a deep breath before pressing back into Merlin’s mouth. He sucked on his lower lip, making Merlin gasp and press against him. Merlin's hand grabbed at his bicep urgently. 

Arthur felt a wave of light-headedness wash over him. Unlike the nauseous disorientation in the garden when Morgana cursed him, this time it was a wave of warmth. Tingles ran down both arms and out his fingers. Merlin pulled back, took a look at him and laughed delightedly, grin spreading across his face.

“You did it,” Arthur confirmed, curling his fingers into the short hair at the back of Merlin's neck. “You broke the curse. You built that castle and stood up to that _thing_. What was that thing, in the shadows? Oh, gods, you dueled with Morgana. She could have killed you,” he rambled.

Merlin bit his lip again and Arthur brought a hand forward to thumb it from between his teeth. Merlin took a deep breath. “No, she couldn’t,” he said, tone reluctant.

Arthur flicked his gaze up to meet Merlin’s. He had held off Morgana’s attack without effort, in this memory of their final fight. He had broken the curse with a _kiss_. Arthur knew enough from the research Gaius had told them about to know that it was impossible. The stories and rumours and legends surrounding the man he held onto came flooding back. Arthur knew not to believe most of them. Except for one thing he had been _so stupid_ to overlook all this time.

“You’re magic,” Arthur said. Merlin looked at him as if he were an idiot. “I mean, you’re really, properly magic. That was… that was….” He shook his head. “You get paid in rabbits and carrots! If you actually have real magic, why would you do that?”

“That’s all they can afford,” Merlin said, as if it were the only possible answer.

“You are magic,” Arthur repeated in a whisper, looking him over as if he had never seen him before.

Merlin just laughed in response. His fingers twisted in the fabric of his jacket as Arthur darted back in, licking at the crease of his mouth as soon as their lips met. The world was encroaching on this space they had made. The reminder that Arthur’s people were in danger, and that he had to leave lent urgency to the way they pressed into each other. Then, Merlin tilted his head to the side. He pressed their cheeks together, his panted breath warm against Arthur’s jaw. He pulled back, eyes wide as they searched Arthur’s. 

“Hold on tight,” Merlin whispered. It didn’t feel like they were moving. He and Merlin felt like the only solid piece of the universe as the world dissolved around them. The earth and the skies and gravity fell away, leaving them alone but for each other. Arthur buried his face in Merlin's shoulder against the emptiness and held on. From a distance and growing louder, he could hear the mechanical moans of the moving castle. He looked up to see the castle building itself out of nothing. The door flipped up into space, open. The universe arranged itself so that they were inside, tangled together and home - with war on the horizon.


	14. in which the Immortal army rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for waiting. I had a couple of those semester-long assignments due last week, and in the tradition of college students everywhere I left them due until, well, last week. :) I am looking at the amount of rewriting I have to do for chapters 15/16 and will let you know that they will be Wednesday/weekened updates. Almost done! (how.)

Kilgharrah made a pleased noise from the hearth as Arthur and Merlin disentangled themselves. Merlin kept hold of Arthur’s elbow a second longer, to brace him through the lingering dizziness. They ignored him, though Merlin did shoot a disgruntled glare at the fire. Arthur set his hands on his thighs, breathing hard. “Let’s never do that again,” he huffed, head bowed. Merlin laughed at him as he moved away.

When Arthur looked up, his own smile faded. Merlin had fetched the dragons-breath sword and was unwrapping it. The cloth they had used to protect ever-clumsy Merlin from the blade’s edge pooled onto the floor at his feet as he walked to Arthur.

“Are we ready?” Merlin asked. His voice trembled. He handed over the sword; blade light in one hand, the other gripped white on the hilt. It caught the light when Arthur accepted it. He wasn’t wearing a sheath, so he held it bared at his side, looking down at it as he braced himself for what was to come. He saw Merlin set his shoulders, watched as he took a breath and let it out through his mouth in a steadying exhale. 

He thought of Merlin fighting Morgana and winning in the ashes of the Wastes, all burning eyes and cornered fear. He thought of the way he hid from both sides, not because he didn’t want the war to end and not because he was afraid to fight, but because he could see the way both sides struck through innocents for their cause. He thought of how Merlin brought the Wastes back to peaceful, loving life. Gentle Merlin, who hid away from the world like a shadow from the sun, because it was so afraid of him, when all he wanted to do was help.

“You don’t have to,” Arthur said. “This isn’t your fight.” 

Merlin stared at him, speechless and wide-eyed.

“You hate it, and I won’t ask it of you. Stay here, where it’s safe and wait for Gwen to come through.”

“The fight is yours.”

“And I won’t ask you to be a part of it,” Arthur agreed.

“No!” Merlin blushed at the volume of his refusal. “I mean… it’s your fight, so it’s mine.” He swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur’s. “I’ll fight for you, if you’ll have me.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know –”

“You don’t want to. I know how you feel about –”

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupted. He held out his right hand, waited until Arthur met his gaze and nodded, slowly but decisive. “I’m with you.”

Arthur gripped the outstretched hand. Then he pulled gently so Merlin stepped into his space. He leaned forward until his forehead was resting against Merlin’s. It gave them one more moment of peace. Then, Arthur led the way down the stairs. Merlin followed behind him. He paused on the first step, looking back in the empty room and the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s hand was on the dial when he looked back to see that Merlin had paused.

Merlin considered, biting at his lower lip. “Go through,” he said finally. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Arthur nodded, turning the dial and stepping through into Gaius’s chambers. They were clean and quiet, empty. Arthur adjusted his grip on the sword and stepped carefully down the steps and across to the door, all his senses on alert. His footsteps echoed sharply in the hallway. He held the sword ready. He twisted often to keep an eye on the corridor behind him, the emptiness unsettling. There should be someone – anyone – in the halls. The silence weighed on him as he made his careful way towards the main corridors.

He spun and planted his feet at a click behind him, only to see a face peering at him through the opening of a cracked door.

“Gwen,” Arthur said thankfully, recognizing her. She pulled the door open a little more, until it banged against the barrier they’d constructed within. She was holding a sword, acting guard for the servants and nobles who had been brought to safety.

“Arthur! Thank goodness,” she said, relief evident. As Arthur pushed his way through the doorway, he could see the same relief on the faces of the other staff behind her. Those who were standing pushed forward to see him, murmuring relieved thanks and blessings. Gaius was on the far side of the room, where people injured laid on mats on the floor. He nodded to Arthur, but was too busy working to come over.

Arthur greeted his people, reassuring them quickly before he drew Gwen aside.

“They’re already inside the castle?” he asked.

“It was Agravaine,” Gwen said. “He let in soldiers and Immortals through one of the dungeon tunnels. The knights are holding the doors, last we heard. Lancelot told us to run and lock ourselves in when those… when they broke through the main gates.”

“Keep this door locked, and barred,” he ordered. “Keep them safe.”

Gwen nodded, determined. She hefted the sword in her hands. “I will.” Her tone was iron-steady.

Arthur pushed his way back through the corridor, and she began to move the barricade back into place. “Stay safe, Majesty,” she said, but he was already on his way, hurrying. He didn’t run. He didn’t want to arrive at his knights’ side winded, not when they had been holding off an enemy infused with magic all this time. Without him. The silence around him broke at the edges as he reached the wide marble corridors of the main thoroughways. Distant clashes, the low steady roar of men shouting, sudden thumps and crashing; all were the sounds of battle within Camelot and they were growing louder.

Arthur couldn’t keep himself from running the last empty hallway. The noise grew louder as he drew closer until he pulled the wide doors open and burst into the courtyard, into the full cacophony of battle. He paused on the stairs. Allowing himself a single breath to adjust his eyes to the light, to get his bearings in the sudden movement and noise. His battle-hardened eyes took in everything before him. Cenred and Morgana’s soldiers outnumberd his knights; Arthur counted the fallen still wrapped in red cloaks as a general, putting the grief in the number aside for later. His knights were on the defensive, tightly grouped with a wall behind and to one side. Their swords and shields linked and pointing outward, but the defense did no good. Even as Arthur began his exhale, he watched as killing blows landed on the enemy and went unnoticed.

Arthur jumped the steps from the doorway to the dusty stone as he began to draw his second breath and crossed the courtyard at a run.

A few of the Immortal soldiers were not packed around his knights, and Arthur collided with a pair of them first. As one thrust his blade forward, Arthur dodged to the right. He grabbed his shoulder, using his speed and the Immortal’s off-balance momentum to send his opponent stumbling. The other slashed. Arthur parried, sliding his blade to the other’s hilt and then _away_. It was sent skidding across the courtyard. As the Immortal’s gaze followed his weapon, Arthur took a half-step back, brought both hands to his drawn blade and stepped forward to thrust it deep into his enemy’s chest.

There was a moment of immobility. The courtyard itself froze silent and unmoving but for the hair that stood on end on Arthur’s arms and neck before there was a _thump_ , the very air between them compressing and expanding with enough force that Arthur was forced back. He blinked and shook his head. Only then did he notice that the Immortal soldier was dissolving like ash at the end of a hot blaze, burning red and then white and bursting into the air and blowing away across the courtyard stones in a puff of dust.

Arthur consolidated his grip and spun on his heels before the dust could separate on the wind. He slashed the second across the gut, watching as his sword glowed golden, this time, as his foe dissolved at his feet.

There was a cheer across the courtyard and Leon's bellowed "To the King!" and Arthur grinned as he stepped forward to turn the tide in Camelot's favour again.

His knights fought the Immortals back, trying to break the line to get to Arthur’s side. They rallied to defend Arthur’s back as he took down enemy after unnatural enemy. Arthur blinked in the ashes of a fallen foe as shouts raised behind him. The knights had broken free of the corner, but without the safety of the walls and still outnumbered, they were in trouble. Arthur threw himself into the fray, and was surrounded before he could reach his men. Enemies were on all sides, filling the spaces as quickly as he cut through them. Arthur tried to reach his knights, who were defenseless without the sword’s magic.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s shout was clear to him, even over the cacophony of battle. Arthur turned to see Merlin raise both hands. The Immortals surrounding him flew backwards with him at the epicenter of the blast. He braced himself, but there was no need; whatever magic Merlin had used, none of it touched him. The distraction gave him time to gain his footing. With a deep breath before he was off again, killing two as they began to push themselves to their feet. There was another of Morgana’s undead soldiers to his left as he spun, the sword gripped in both hands. Merlin’s magic threw the last Immortal away from its attack on Gwaine. Arthur threw himself into a roll. He swung as he stood, taking it’s head from its body.

There was a flash of golden light and the Immortal dissolved, leaving the courtyard in silence but for the laboured breathing of the victors.

Gwaine lifted a hand off the wound on his arm, examining it with a shrug. It wasn’t too serious. Lancelot looked over the destruction of the courtyard while Leon looked from the sword in Arthur’s hand to Merlin, who was hurrying over, back to the sword. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

“It actually worked!” Merlin exclaimed, gesturing at the sword as he reached the group.

“You didn’t _know,_?” Arthur asked, incredulous and out of breath.

“I was pretty sure! Hey, leave off! It worked, didn’t it? And besides, this is my first undead army, too!”

“ _Merlin_!”

“Merlin?” Leon asked, voice a little faint. Both Arthur and Merlin turned to the knights, who were staring at the wizard. Elyan was grinning. Lancelot gripped his shoulder briefly in greeting, which Merlin accepted with a relieved smile.

“Um, hi,” Merlin said, waving awkwardly.

“Oh, gods,” Arthur huffed. He reached forward and grabbed Merlin’s shirt, dragging him along with them, ignoring his squawked protest. “Report,” he directed at Leon.

Leon looked between him and Merlin once more, and then focused his attention. “We lost track of Agravaine,” he said, sounding ashamed. “It was those damned sorcerers of his.” His gaze shot to Merlin. “Um, begging your pardon. He opened the gates to the dungeon pass before we could find him again. We’ve managed to drive them from the castle itself on this side. Percy was leading the other group. Last we heard, they were keeping them on the other side of the throne room, away from the armoury.”

“You’ve done well,” Arthur assured them. They were across the courtyard and Arthur stopped. "Leon, Gwaine, you two are with me. Elyan, take everyone else and get to Perce. We have to keep them contained.” With a thump on Merlin’s shoulder, Elyan got the rest of the knights and hurried off to the left. Arthur and the rest continued straight. “We have to check on the position of the rest of them.”

“There’s more?” Leon asked as they hurried to the nearest stairs leading up onto the wall. Arthur didn’t answer as they took the stone steps two at a time. They reached the wide walkway on the top only to stop and stare at the fields that separated the castle from the royal woods. It was the only access to the city for an invading army; what with the cliffs on the opposite side, and the fortifications around the town below providing a much harsher defense. In this open ground, an army would be at the mercy of those on the wall and in the air. Morgana’s army had no fear of catapults and warships, and they filled the field, a blight from the base of the wall all the way to the trees. In the distance, Arthur could see the slow-moving shadow of warships on their way to attack.

“Gods, are there ever,” Gwaine muttered as they saw the expanse of the enemy. “Don’t happen to have any more of those swords conveniently tucked away, do you Merls?”

Merlin did a double-take at the nickname and shook his head. He then made an indecisive noise, biting his lip in a way that Arthur was beginning to come uncomfortable acquainted with.

“What did you do?” Arthur asked.

“Remember how I told you the sword was dragon-forged?”

“Okay.”

“I _may_ have released Kilgharrah,” Merlin said in a rush.

Arthur thought of the tiny grate at the bottom of the castle’s hearth. “All right, that’s not –”

There was a roar that shook the ground beneath his feet. Gwaine, Arthur, and Leon ducked to the ground, clinging desperately to the crenellations. Merlin turned to him sheepishly. “About Kilgharrah….” he trailed off. A shadow darkened the stone around them and they all looked up. Kilgharrah soard past, the size of a house, bat-like wings blocking out the sun. He roared again as he swooped over the army in the field.

“A _dragon_?” Arthur shouted.

“Listen –”

“A _dragon_ , Merlin? Did you have a _dragon_ living _inside your castle_?”

Merlin threw his arms wide. “I might have done!”

“Oh, I like him,” Gwaine said around his grin.

Arthur smiled helplessly, huffing out a laugh and shaking his head as he looked to Merlin. “He’s with us?”

“A couple warships couldn’t stop him,” Merlin assured him.

Arthur looked to where Kilgharrah was batting the fleet of warships around like a cat playing with butterflies. They had started to fire, but their spent firespit and cannon balls fell uselessly on the fields below as Kilgharrah twisted out of their way without effort. Watching the power of the dark shape in his skies, Arthur pieced together why the shadowy shape had sounded familiar. Arthur couldn’t begin to wrap his head around it being the same being he had spoken to through a small grate in the fire; all he could see was the threat it posed to his own fleets, his city, and people.

But Merlin met his eyes squarely when Arthur tore his gaze from the battle in the sky and looked to him. “He’s on your side.”

“Good enough,” Arthur nodded. “Now, tell us how to stop the Immortals.”

Merlin quailed a little under the sudden attention of all the knights, but straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. Arthur smiled. “We have to empty the Cup. It will destroy the army.”

“A goblet, like?” Leon asked. Merlin nodded. “We’ve been following Lord Agravaine. I saw him take something like that down to the crypts.”

“You can destroy it?” Arthur asked Merlin.

“I can.”

Arthur kept Merlin’s gaze for a long moment before nodding at the confidence there. “Lancelot, you go with him. Kilgharrah will hold the field. The rest of us will defend the keep.”

Lancelot and Merlin headed for the stair. “Lancelot!” Arthur called out after them without meaning to. Lancelot turned back, raising his eyebrows in question. Arthur flicked a glance from him to Merlin, holding himself back. Their world was falling down around them, and Merlin had never wanted to fight at all…

“I’ve got him,” Lancelot assured him. Merlin looked back over his shoulder and grinned, eyes alight with cocksure confidence. They disappeared over the edge.

Arthur gave himself only a moment to watch them and then turned towards his knights. “Ready to defend your kingdom?” he asked them.

They answered with a roar.


	15. in which duels are fought and the fate of Camelot is decided

With Kilgharrah taking care of the soldiers on the field and keeping the airships at bay, Arthur led Leon and Gwaine from the wall. They hurried across the now-empty courtyard where his knights had been making their final stand. Once in the castle, Arthur hesitated for a moment. One passage led down to the crypts, and he looked down it before leading the way into the main part of the castle. Gwaine and Leon both stayed close, guarding Arthur’s back and side as they made their way towards the throne room. Noticing how on guard they are, Arthur questioned them on their enemies' numbers.

“They came in two groups,” Leon said. “First they came through the dungeon tunnels. We managed to keep them contained in the east side of the castle. We were in the throne room corridor when more came from behind.”

“Thanks to Agravaine,” Gwaine added bitterly.

“He let them in through the west servants' gate,” Leon explained as they hurried across an open sitting room. “We couldn’t kill them, but we split into two groups and drove them out into the courtyard where you found us.”

Arthur could see the evidence of their hard work; fallen knights, servants and nobles alike lay where they'd fallen. His knights’ tired faces and splattered, shredded clothes spoke volumes. They had fought long and hard to defend Camelot in his absence.

If he had just been here. If he had managed to avoid this curse, or had managed to have found the answer sooner, he could have protected them. But there was no time to feel guilt, and no time to express his gratitude. They hurried along the wide, long-running corridors. Arthur was growing more nervous that they'd not come across either Agravaine, his sorcerers, or – most worryingly – Morgana. What they would do if faced with magic, Arthur didn’t know, but Agravaine was a different case entirely. He had betrayed Arthur, and Camelot, both. He had served their enemies, and had helped to bring this disaster on the people here. Arthur would bring him to justice.

The sounds of battle were growing louder. Percy, Elyan and the other knights were being pushed back by the enemy. If the Immortals and their men backed the knights into the wide corridor, they would be able to surround them.

“The King!” Gwaine shouted as they pushed through the knights holding the pass. There were cheers around them, and his men moved aside to let Arthur through, where his sword could do some good. Clearing the Immortal soldiers blocking the way, Arthur led them to battle. This group was mostly of regular soldiers, dressed in purple. Arthur took down the few Immortals with quick moves. As he struck his last opponent, Arthur took a moment to scan the corridor. He was unwilling to let even one more knight die to an Immortal, with him finally there to help.

Instead of Immortals, Arthur froze when he saw Agravaine at the far end of the corridor. His uncle scanned the fight, the paleness of his face clear even from the distance. Arthur and his knights would take the castle, and Agravaine could see it. Instead of standing to fight, he slipped through one of the doors that led into the throne room.

“Leon!” Arthur shouted as he began to give chase. He would not let his uncle escape from justice, not after everything he’d done. Leon looked up to see Arthur follow Agravaine out of the corridor. He made to follow, but was engaged in another fight almost immediately. Arthur couldn't wait.

The old throne room had been a single corridor of stone, with the throne at the end. This was a much more pompous affair. Columns around the walls on three sides framed doorways that led into corridors for supplicants, officials and servants. Agravaine had intended to make his way out one of the far doors, which led to a servants’ stair. From there, he could have disappeared out of the castle while the knights were distracted. He would have, no doubt, joined with Morgana on the field and in her war against Camelot, bringing all their secrets with him.

“Uncle!” Arthur called. He was used to making his voice heard across this room. With the emptiness, and his anger, it reverberated with echoes. Agravaine halted mid-step, cringing.

He had stopped before the throne, in the same place where he’d knelt to Arthur after Uther’s death and promised to serve him. Arthur approached, sword bare at his side and footsteps echoing solemnly. The sounds of battle outside were distant. Agravaine’s shoulders stiffened, and his back straightened as he found his courage staring at the throne before him. He didn’t turn as Arthur stopped a healthy distance behind him, though he tilted his head to glance over his shoulder.

“Your father got rid of even the throne she used to sit upon, when he killed her,” Agravaine said.

“She died in childbirth,” Arthur reminded him.

Agravaine exhaled. “He killed her. She would be alive, if not for the way he meddled in forces beyond his control. If he had left her alone, as our father and Tristan had demanded.”

“And so you betray me in revenge against his memory?” Arthur asked, shaking his head in confusion. He heard a door open. “If you had quarrel with him –”

“He was a thief, and a murderer,” his uncle interrupted, turning. “No son of his deserves the throne of Camelot.”

Arthur met his uncle’s eyes, and saw nothing of the relative he had thought he had found in him, only hatred and anger. “I didn’t ask you to swear to me,” Arthur reminded him. “It is not my father who you have harmed in your betrayal of those oaths you made, but the people of Camelot. You will be tried for treason, Uncle. Come with me now,” he asked, hoping. Agravaine was still his only family, despite all he had done, and Arthur did not want –

He sighed as Agravaine released his gauntlet, looking at it in his palm. Meeting Arthur’s eyes, he let it drop with the heavy sound of metal hitting the stone floor.

“You would have a fair trial, Agravaine,” Arthur told him.

Agravaine snorted. “’Fair’? You Pendragons. You don’t know the meaning of the word. I will not allow Uther’s son to make an example of me. Fight, Arthur. Let’s see how well the murderer trained you.”

Arthur rolled his shoulders and stepped forward to face his challenger

He put aside his fears for his people, all thoughts of the army gathered outside, his sadness and anger at Agravaine’s final betrayal and unfair words. He gathered his attention in the calm place within him that held his will, his strength. It had always been cold, like the courtyard in late hours and horrible weather, when he was the last left training. Like empty rooms where he practiced techniques his father demanded be perfect. Like the criticism of an almost good enough. The disappointment of set-backs and defeat when the expectation was to be the best, always, every time.

Now, it was warm. It was the loud mechanical mumbling of the castle. The complete way in which Gwen and Merlin both had drawn him in and expected him to be better because they trusted he could. They believed that was the kind of man he was, already, with no doubt or disappointment in them.

Arthur opened his eyes and waited. Agravaine, anger still evident in every line of his face and body, made the first move. Arthur stepped to the side, dodging Agravaine’s swiped sword without breaking line of sight with his uncle. He noted the way Agravaine’s foot turned to the side, the way the muscles in his thigh tensed, and he jumped back as Agravaine turned the swipe into a lunge, the point of the sword slicing Arthur’s jacket over his chest.

“This part of your legend, at least, has not been exaggerated,” Agravaine taunted.

Arthur had spent no time training with his uncle since he had arrived in court, but he knew that Agravaine was renowned in many circles of Camelot as a skilled swordsman, in tournaments and battle alike. Arthur could see that his skills, too, were true to life.

But his uncle had not been training. Instead, he had spent the last year ingratiating himself with Arthur and conspiring with Morgana. He may have the long confidence of hard-won skills and victories, but Arthur was willing to bet that he had let those same skills lapse in inactivity. He shifted his right foot, and watched Agravaine’s gaze follow. He watched as his uncle prepared a block and counter-attack. Arthur shifting his weight to the right, but spun backwards instead of stepping forward as Agravaine expected. His uncle’s sword went wide to the right, and Arthur’s came from the left, digging deep into his collarbone. He fell.

Arthur's body still rushed with adrenaline, everything too sharply lined, but now he had to keep his hands from trembling, because he had trusted Agravaine, and he didn’t have time to decide whether or not to mourn him.

“Sire,” Leon’s voice was quiet behind him. Arthur turned to see his knight enter the room, breathing hard and covered in blood, but unharmed. Arthur breathed deep and even, looking down at the body of his mother’s last family member. Knowing that Agravaine had set aside their blood connection first made his death no easier to bear.

There was no time to mourn the idea of him; Camelot was still in peril. Arthur turned away from his uncle.

Gwaine came in behind him, nodding when he saw Agravaine’s body there.

“Good riddance,” he said as they approached. Leon rested a familiar hand on Arthur’s arm.

Comfort could come later. “The corridor is clear?” he asked briskly, leading them back into the corridor, where his knights stood victorious.

“The castle is ours,” Percy announced. The knights cheered, the sound echoing through the narrow space, filling Arthur’s ribcage with sound.

“To your stations,” he ordered the group of them. “You’ve done good work today, but the battle is not yet done.” They hurried to obey, while Arthur, Elyan, Gwaine, Percy and Leon returned to the wall.

The skies above them were clear of the war machines. In the distance, Arthur could see that Kilgharrah had led them off; perhaps to keep the destruction from raining down on the village and castle, or because the numbers were beginning to wear him down. Without him, the army on the field had regrouped and were marching on them. Arthur looked down on the sea of enemies beneath them, gaze sweeping over the rows and columns.

“Which are the Immortals?” Elyan asked, looking down over the expanse of men.

“All those in black,” Arthur answered, realizing just how great the number truly was. Perhaps one in ten had been changed unnaturally by Morgana’s magic.

“You can’t kill them all,” Gwaine said to Arthur when he took a place at the wall on his left.

There was no way. Arthur would die of exhaustion before he came through even a fraction of that army. Even if he shared the sword, it would take days to work through the force below, and they would not stand still, waiting for the blade. They would destroy the village, raze the surrounding fields and villages. The castle walls would fall. There was no hope, there. There was only one hope left. “Come on, Merlin,” he muttered.

And then, against all odds, something was happening down below. Starting closest to the walls, the first lines of the enemy army staggered back, falling to the ground and dissolving into ash. Row upon row, working back through the expanse of army fell before the invisible power. Arthur let out an exalted shout as the army fell before the walls in a wave, disintegrating into a cloud of dust and ash and blowing away on the wind. Those left alive looked around as their army was decimated. With knights of Camelot beginning to appear along the wall, and in the warships of the hangar, their advantage was gone. Suddenly vastly outnumbered, they began their retreat.

He felt Gwaine grip his shoulder. Cheers sounded along the walls as the knights gathered celebrated the enemy’s defeat. He turned to grin at Leon, and felt the air between them, all around him, expand in a rush of heat and pressure that forced him off his feet. He landed hard on the stone of the walkway, legs swinging between the crenellations with a crack. The air thumped from his lungs, leaving him unable to even gasp them full again. Gwaine landed hard beside him, his armour making the crash of impact seem more violent. His head cracked against the stone and he went still. Arthur looked up in time to see another sweep of air take his knights off the wall as if a cord swept their legs out from under them. Leon, Elyan, and Percival flew off the wall, luckily on the inside of the castle. The other side was a steep hill, filled with tough shrubs and clinging vines. It would be a long tumble for anyone off that side of the wall.

He rolled over and forced an inhale. Croaking pants of breath ripped through his throat. He was trying to catch his breath, turning to his side and wheezing when she spoke.

“Brother dearest,” Morgana drawled, appearing on the wall like a nightmare. Her eyebrows twitched up and she smirked down at him. “I bet you thought you’d won.”

“Morgana,” Arthur wheezed. He tried to push himself up, but flopped like a fish drawn on land. Leon’s shouting reached his ears, distant and covered by the ringing pulse that the fall had wrought.

Morgana raised a hand against him, palm facing him. Her face was set in hard, hateful lines Arthur knew well that he could not argue against. He blinked his eyes closed, but only for a moment. He would not look away. If she were to kill him, she would have to look him in the eye to do it.

It wasn’t going to dissuade her. Her smile twitched at the edges, all madness and gathered rage. “Goodbye, Pendragon,” she spat.

“Morgana, stop.” It was Merlin. Arthur raised his head. He stood at the top of the stair, breathing hard from the run from the crypts. Dirt streaked his face, there was blood on one of his sleeves, and he was the best thing Arthur had ever seen.

Arthur couldn’t see her face, when she turned to find Merlin standing there. He could see her body tense, and her hands now at her sides as she took a step away from Arthur and towards Merlin, shook. Despite how angry she was with Arthur, Merlin’s appearance in the middle of this battle was enough to steal her notice. With Morgana’s attention, and that deadly hand, away from him, Arthur rolled to the side, scrabbling along the stone to Gwaine. He hissed a breath, but got his legs under him and checked Gwaine’s pulse. Looking around, Arthur couldn’t find his sword; it must have flew out of his grasp when Morgana attacked, hopefully into the courtyard below. 

“Merlin,” she sneered. “So, after all these years of hiding, you’ve deigned to finally choose a side.”

Merlin’s gaze found Arthur’s. “I have.”

She bared her teeth. “The _wrong side_. The Pendragons have murdered and enslaved your kin and still you crawl to them.”

“It’s not going to be like that,” Merlin argued. “That time is done. Arthur will save us,” he promised. “There can be peace again, if you just –” He was interrupted by a bout of flame. He ducked inside the watchmen’s enclosure, quick reflexes and stone protecting him from the fire.

“Don’t talk to me about peace.” Morgana snarled. Arthur looked over the wall’s edge, down into the courtyard below. He could see Leon get to his feet, with the help of Percy. Lancelot, also smeared with dirt from the fight in the crypt stood with Elyan. Leon gestured at the steps in question, but Arthur signaled for them to retreat to safety. There was nothing their swords could do against Morgana’s magic. 

There was another stair fifty feet along the wall, but Arthur didn’t want to attract Morgana’s attention by getting Gwaine to safety. “After everything that has been done to us,” she continued. “After everything the Pendragons have _done_ you are going to choose them?” Her voice was rising. “You are going to serve him?”

Merlin stepped out from his shelter, shoulders square and expression set. “You offer us nothing but more death,” he replied. “I choose Arthur. I will always choose him. You are still nothing more than that hateful little girl I fought in the Wastes.”

She laughed, enraged, and threw her hand out again. The door behind Merlin, solid wood and iron-banded, blew back off its hinges and into the corridor it guarded. The stone around his feet chipped under the pressure, the shards rising violently into the air, whipping around the still air in a duststorm cloud. Merlin would have been thrown back into the stone wall behind him –

But, no. He stepped from the dust, sleeve against his mouth, eyes squinted against the sand. He raised an arm of his own, and sand flew up around Morgana, but not in an unrestrained cloud. Instead, it snaked around her arms and ankles in sinuous ropes. She pulled against them, and her eyes glowed bright again.

This time, Merlin did stagger back a step, but he kept his feet. The sand bonds tightened their grip on Morgana and she tugged fruitlessly. Her eyes glowed once more and heat pressed against Arthur, drying his lips to cracking, and stealing the moisture from his eyes. The dark sand holding Morgana flaked and fell apart into a thousand grains. It flew at Merlin, aiming for his eyes, growing and shimmering until it was a hundred green-black beetles.

He pursed his lips and blew, and they tumbled wings over legs away into the air and disappeared. Before Morgana could react, he threw out a hand and the long ribbon tied about her waist lengthened, cinching her elbows to her sides. The pins holding her hat to her head flew into the air, and the veil of that fell off, binding her wrists and hands. Her gown tightened and spun, wrapping around and around her legs.

Her eyes glowed, but Merlin deflected the spell before it could manifest. Under Arthur's protective arm, Gwaine stirred. Arthur took his eyes from the battle to slap his cheek roughly. On the second smack, Gwaine opened his eyes and swatted at him, exclaiming nonsensically and glaring. “I’m awake,” he protested.

“Traitor,” Morgana said, soft and heavy with accusation. “I’ll never forgive you this, Merlin.”

Merlin watched her, sorrow in his eyes and his brows drawn, but all he did was nod. “All right,” he responded.

Something about this infuriated Morgana. They had hidden as students together. They had both been forced to flee Camelot. And then Merlin had ran. He had refused to help her, but he had also never been willing to stand against her in anything. He was, now. The fact that it was for Arthur, who Morgana hated so much, had her shaking with rage.

Arthur guessed the moment before she turned to him, what she would do. He threw himself to his feet, putting distance between him and Gwaine, who was still too disoriented to run. She met his gaze and she smiled, teeth bared in a promise. She couldn’t beat Merlin, but she could destroy Arthur.

Her eyes glowed golden, the unnatural colour swirling and building. Arthur was defenceless against it.

“No!” Merlin called out, understanding her as well, but it was too late, Arthur thought. Too late to find shelter, no chance at defending himself, just Morgana and her magic and –

She flew through the air, away from Arthur. The crenelation behind her exploded outwards and she disappeared amongst the gravel and the mortar dust, over the edge of the wall. The dust cleared to find the wall empty; she was gone. Arthur gasped in a breath and turned to Merlin. The gold was fading in his eyes, ebbing away to blue. His hand was outstretched towards where Morgana had disappeared, but his eyes were locked on Arthur.

Arthur nodded, and then sank to sit down. Leon and the others hurried up the stairs, several knights circling Arthur while Leon waved a hand at the dust in the air, looking down over the wall for some glimpse of Morgana. Lancelot knelt by Gwaine, who patted his thigh without lifting his head.

Merlin was leaning bonelessly back against the wall. His weary gaze found Arthur’s, and he grinned widely, unrestrained. Arthur could do nothing except grin back.


	16. in which a contract is concluded and someone is insufferably smug about how it all turned out

There was a deep, bone-weary silence in the courtyard. Even catching their breath was in an exhausted quiet. They had moved down from the wall only to make themselves more available to runners who were bringing messages from around the castle. The castle and town were clear of Cenred and Morgana’s forces. The army outside the gates was retreating under the careful eye of the warships put into the air. Leon came over, having already organized a group of men to – carefully – search the other side of the wall for any traces of Morgana. Arthur gave permission, though he expected there to be no sign of her; she had always managed to escape without a trace before. His suspicions were proven when Leon and his men returned and reported that the trail made when she fell on the other side simply disappeared.

It would be a problem. Morgana would never stop hating him, for what Uther had done. Cenred had proven himself an enemy, and though his army was defeated, their borders would have to be secured. Camelot’s soldiers had been hit hard, fighting an enemy they were unable to kill. There would be funerals in the afternoon - after their dead were collected - but Arthur and the rest of his knights would take the quiet of the moment to regain their strength.

Gaius and Gwen came shortly after Arthur collapsed against a wall, ignoring the dust in favour of _sitting_ , the heat of the sun-warmed stone against his back. Merlin was already sitting to his right, eyes closed either in exhaustion or to ignore the intently curious eyes of knights and stewards alike as they reported to and took orders from Arthur. Gwen threw herself out the door, hitting Lancelot with enough force to wind him. He wrapped his arms around her just as tightly as she held him and whispered into her hair. Gaius followed at a more sedate pace.

“Sire,” he said with a smile, looking down on them. “It’s good to see you again.”

Arthur grinned up at him. “We’re all right,” he said, gesturing between Merlin and himself with a drooping hand. “Can you check on Gwaine? Morgana’s spell sent him flying.” Gaius nodded and made his way over to where Gwaine was set in the shade of the wall.

Gwen crouched down in front of them, skirts and sheathed sword hanging in the dirt. Merlin opened his eyes to smile at her, accepting her outstretched hand in his.

“How is everyone inside?” Arthur asked.

“Gaius saved everyone he could,” she said, matter-of-fact. “We lost some, but the knights were able to keep the soldiers away until we could all hide. They’re all helping with clean-up, now.” She smiled. “They were afraid, until you arrived. Their king.” Arthur scoffed, embarrassed. “What an entrance,” she teased him. “You disappear for weeks and show up in the midst of battle; with a magic sword, a fearsome sorcerer,” she squeezed Merlin’s hand, “and a dragon. There will be songs about this.”

Merlin laughed without opening his eyes. “Haha, your turn,” he said.

Arthur made a face. “We’ll have them sing them at our next feast. Along with all the tales of the Wizard Merlin and his fearsome exploits.”

Gwen giggled as Merlin hit his leg, nose wrinkled and eyes still shut.

Arthur was just about to stand and begin the long work of bringing safety and order back to his castle when a shadow shivered across the courtyard, spreading across its entire length in a swoop. He leapt to his feet and looked into the air, his knights doing the same around him.

Arthur had forgotten about the dragon.

Arthur had _forgotten_ about the _dragon_?

He looked to Merlin, who was also looking up at the sky, but with a distinct lack of fear or concern. He looked fond, and a little annoyed at the emotion. Arthur supposed that was the answer to the question he was about to ask. Arthur couldn’t match the voice in the small hearth with this scaled, bat-winged giant wheeling above them, but he had seen Merlin looking in Kilgharrah’s direction enough times to recognize the expression on his face when he was doing so.

“Weapons down,” he ordered, making sure his voice carried through the courtyard. “It’s all right,” he said confidently, his stomach trying to make an appearance up through his throat as everyone backed towards the walls of the courtyard to make room from Kilgharrah to land. Dust kicked up in whirling flurries, Kilgharrah flapping those wide-spread wings as his clawed feet sought the ground.

“Ah,” he said with satisfaction as he landed and the dust settled. He turned his head, resting his golden gaze on Merlin and Arthur. “I told you the curse would be broken.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed before a thought occurred to him. “And no thanks to you, by the way. You said you would break it when I discovered Merlin’s secret.”

“He said wha – You said _what_?” Merlin exclaimed, turning from Arthur to Kilgharrah and back again. Arthur shrugged an apology at him sidelong, returning his glare to Kilgharrah.

“I promised the curse would be broken when the secret was discovered,” Kilgharrah replied. “And so it was. Once Merlin accepted the destiny you share, he found the power to break the curse, within himself."

Arthur’s mouth was open slightly as he stared at the dragon and thought it out. He looked at Merlin, noting the narrowing of his eyes.

“That just _happened_ ,” Arthur argued. “You had nothing to do with it.”

“Destiny cannot be avoided,” he said sagely. Merlin threw his hands up in the air. Gwen rolled her eyes so hard it _had_ to hurt.

“You’re a fake,” Arthur accused.

“And yet,” he said, trailing off in a way that suggested that he had just gestured at Arthur’s current state of visibility, even without the hands necessary to do so.

“You lazy – ”

“And now I must leave you, young warlock.” Kilgarrah said loudly, wings outstretching to their full length. He settled them briefly, voice softening. “Camelot, and all of Albion, is safe in your hands. And the hands of your King. This is the destiny you were always capable of fulfilling.”

“I’m sorry you had to hide inside my castle to get me to see it,” Merlin responded, his tone begrudgingly fond.

Kilgharrah’s laugh sent smoke into the air. “If it was the only way to keep you safe, and be on hand to direct you to your destiny, then it was a worthy sacrifice. Magic will to Camelot once again, without the blight of hate Nimueh, Morgana, and their ilk put upon it. You did well, Merlin,” he said warmly. Merlin ducked his head, blushing. “Do you have any further need of me?”

“No, old friend,” Merlin said. “You can go.”

“You need only call if you need my assistance in the future. Guinevere,” Kilgharrah bowed a goodbye.

Her smile was rueful. “I’ll miss you, you old fraud.”

“Goodbye, Kilgharrah,” Merlin said. “Thank you.”

Kilgharrah dipped his head in a nod. As he lifted it, he leapt into the air, arching as his wings shot out and carried him into the air. He banked, gaining height over the wall, knocking the knights below off balance with the gust of wind, and then he was disappearing into the distance and was gone.

“What use was he?” Arthur asked.

Merlin thought about it. “He stopped my castle for you,’’ he pointed out. “He means well.”

“He just made this entire conflict about matchmaking.”

Merlin looked at him, looked quickly away and then shrugged. His cheeks were pink, colour creeping its way up to his cheekbones. Gwen looked between them and walked away without a word. She caught Elyan as he was walking over to report, pulling him backwards by his elbow, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone. Merlin flushed even deeper.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the magic?” Arthur asked. He hadn’t had time to think about it since the reveal in Merlin's memories. Everything had happened so quickly after they'd seen Cenred's army. Merlin had to have realised that Arthur had been underestimating him, though, and he had decided not to correct his erroneous impression.

Merlin looked down at his feet. He smiled wryly, one half of his mouth lifting. “I liked that you weren’t afraid to talk to me,” he said, shrugging as if that soft confession weren’t important.

“I’m not,” Arthur assured him.

Merlin nodded, wide-eyed. “I –” He floundered. “I’m glad I could help,” he finished awkwardly. His blush had spread to his ears.

“Did you kiss me just to break the curse?” Arthur asked.

Merlin gaped at him. Arthur hit the bottom of his chin with the edge of his finger to close Merlin’s mouth, clicking his teeth together. Merlin’s no doubt furiously earnest protest was lost when he rolled his eyes at that. Still, he shook his head. “I wasn’t really,” he paused, “thinking of that… when I did it.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” he assured him, willing to repeat it until Merlin believed him. Merlin took a hitching breath. “I don’t see how I could be,” he continued tartly, “after seeing you blush so often.”

“Not _that_ often.”

“When you caught me doing laundry, I thought your head was going to explode.”

“Well, it’s not every day the king you happen to fancy is prancing around your castle!”

“You were embarrassed because… you fancy me?”

“Stop,” Merlin whined, blush cooperating with Arthur’s teasing and lighting his cheeks. Arthur couldn’t help himself; he reached out and pulled Merlin to him. When he was close enough, Arthur released his wrist and linked his arms behind his back. “I thought you were scandalized.”

Merlin laughed into Arthur’s collar. “I grew up on a farm. Not much can scandalize me.”

“Just me without a shirt,” he said, smug.

“It was the unexpectedness and not the view, I’m going to argue.”

“Like that was the most unexpected view you’ve seen, travelling the Wastes in a moving castle.”

“Well, I won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Merlin said, a trace of wistfulness in his voice. “I suppose it’ll be back to the scandals of farm life for me.”

“You could stay,” Arthur said hesitantly.

“There’s nowhere to sit,” Merlin said. Arthur stared at him for a moment before he laughed, eyes wrinkling at the corners.

“I’m King, you know. I can buy chairs.”

“Oh, the extravagance.”

“You’re right. You’ll probably just cover them with your dirty clothes.”

“And what am I supposed to do with all these chairs?” he asked, amused but growing serious.

“It will be Gwen’s job to organize them,” Arthur said, nodding over Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin looked back and laughed. Gwen was in the center of knights and stewarts at Lancelot’s side, organizing messages and delegating with a terrifying efficiency.

“She herded Kilgharrah and me through the Wastes,” Merlin said. “She can handle this castle.”

“I will need more help,” Arthur said lightly, brushing dust from Merlin’s arm. “I can’t bring magic back to Camelot alone, let alone unite Albion.”

“I suppose I will stay,” Merlin said, nodding. He raised his arms and placed his hands, softly, onto Arthur’s shoulders. His thumbs brushed feather-light against Arthur’s neck. “Kilgharrah put so much effort into it, after all.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to disappoint the matchmaking lizard.”

The kiss that followed could have been ruined by the way their teeth met, both unable to keep the grins from their faces….

But it wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all! Thank you so much for making it to the end; I hope you enjoyed the journey!
> 
> A big thank you to all of you who have read and left kudos. They are lovely to get and are really encouraging. A special thanks to the reviewers who have been following the journey. There is nothing more fun than getting your reactions to the characters and their adventures, and you've all been so kind to me. Your virtual hug should arrive shorty; embrace the love.
> 
> Another HUGE thank-you to Kasia. YOU CAN'T STOP ME FROM THANKING YOU HAHA YOU ALREADY READ THIS. The art was glorious and so pretty! And thank you for the countless hours of reading and betaing. I hope you loved the finished product.
> 
> Kris~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Merlin's Moving Castle: the masterpost of artwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515321) by [kaleksandrah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleksandrah/pseuds/kaleksandrah)




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